Facing the Ashes
by thegoofybookworm
Summary: Katniss has survived the third Quarter Quell, unfortunately the same can't be said about her district partner and star-crossed lover Peeta. Review please? Rated T for author paranoia
1. The Widow

**Katniss**

I hear the door open somewhere downstairs, and I know it's either Mom, Prim, or Gale—all three of which have been doing fairly frequent rounds to our Victor's Village house recently. I rarely ever convince Haymitch of visiting me anymore; usually I'm the one having to go over and clean up after his nasty drinking habits…although I wouldn't mind a drink myself.

I've never been a good actress, and I'm more than convinced that all of Panem would have to agree with me. It's probably good news, then, that I have to act sullen for this year's Victory Tour. Great. Now I get to go to districts where I'm responsible for at least _two_ deaths from their population.

"Catnip? Are you there?" I was right on my third guess; it's Gale. I don't bother replying; I'm far too worn out from all the trauma I've gone through, and he knows it. I hear his velvet tread go down the hall, and suddenly he's inside our study, watching me as I stare, frozen, at the vase with the single white rose. Embedded in my second victor crown, a personal gift from President Snow himself.

"You can't be here forever," he says earnestly, taking a seat across the table from me. I'm sitting, limp; shoulders slouched, with a cold, expressionless mask plastered on. He rolls his eyes and takes out an apple from his bag. I turn suddenly to see what he's doing. He's actually setting up lunch for me.

"What are you doing?" I ask warily, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him. It's a rare conversation when he voluntarily talks to me, rather than to the nutshell that's consumed me.

His lips twitch upward in a faint attempt of a smile as he organizes a small jug of water, the apple, and a freshly baked loaf of bread, on the matt in front of me. I avoid looking at the loaf of bread. I know what Gale's doing. He wants to get me to talk about it. Because he knows, even if it kills him to hear how much I miss Peeta, that it'll be good for me to release my feelings.

Well, that's not happening. Neither is his explanation. I rip off a chunk of bread and stuff it in my mouth, making it gross and impossible to say anything to him for at least a few seconds. He looks at me, eyes narrowed, probably furious underneath his calm exterior. _What's happening? _I want to scream at him. _Peeta's dead! Why isn't everything the way it used to be?_

_Because Peeta isn't dead, you idiot,_ a small part of me whispers back as I painfully try to swallow a portion of the bread in my mouth. _Not in here._ My hand instinctively creeps up to my left temple, foreseeing a strong headache about to overwhelm me. All at once the memories come back to me. _Beetee lying, almost lifelessly, by the coil of wire. Peeta somewhere trying to chase down Brutus, while Johanna finished off Enobaria. Peeta avenging the cannon he thought belonged to me, killing Finnick. Johanna, killing Peeta. Johanna, being too close to the water at midnight._

"Are you okay?" Gale asks, his eyebrows furrowing together as he takes me in. He knows I'm still mulling over what happened at the Quarter Quell—thankfully, he's still keeping his distance. He knows it's too cruel to try to make me fall in love with him when I've just been forced to fall out of love with Peeta. Haymitch said once that this grieving matter would probably keep the Capitol off my back for a while, but I doubt it's worth it. Anyway, he hasn't been in top shape himself recently. I know he won't admit it, but he's just as affected by the loss of the boy with the bread as I've been.

I shake my head, keeping my gaze trained on the rose. He follows my line of sight, and, when he spots the item of interest, gently grabs it out of the vase. I do nothing to stop him. He delicately pulls off one petal after the next, until there's nothing but a thorny stem resting between his thumb and his index finger. He smiles at me bitterly before tossing the stem out the window.

"You're going to get better," he says confidently, standing up from his seat and walking around the desk to me. He ducks, and plants a light kiss on my cheek before exiting.

My mother arrives soon afterwards, followed by Prim, whom, as always, is carrying Buttercup in her arms. Even the sight of the nasty-looking cat doesn't trigger some sort of reaction from me.

"We brought you some food from the…" Prim begins cheerfully, but then her voice trails off and I realize what she meant to say. I'm proven right as she puts on the study a tray of cookies and cheese buns. _He used to bake those,_ I think, then slap myself mentally as I realize how pathetic I've become.

Why am I torturing myself about him? I'm back with Prim, with Gale and my mother. I should be ecstatic! I should be…over the moon, celebrating life. But instead what am I doing? Sulking. Sulking like the proper widow I'm supposed to be. It makes sense, I guess, since I'm supposed to be pregnant with Peeta's child and all. Besides, it's not like I don't have a good reason to be depressed. I was being completely honest when I told him I would be the one person that would be broken if he didn't survive these Games.

But this time, he'd taken the berries before I could. This time, I'd won, and he'd won because of it. Because the one thing he'd wanted was for me to come home, and I'd given him just that.

And I hated myself for it.


	2. Hazelle's Idea

**Gale**

There are still days when she locks me out of the house, and no matter how loudly I pound on the door she can't hear me over the sounds of her screams. Sometimes it gets so bad that Haymitch has to break open one of the windows so we can drag her back to her old house in the Seam.

There are worse days, like today, when she won't scream, and when she talks to me, it's not her. It's her robotic brain. She'll sit quietly, staring into practically nothing. It's days like these when I feel like she's really, truly gone. I know I'll never have her the way Peeta had her, but it was comforting to think, before she came back, that everything would at least return to normal. I can see now that won't happen soon.

My mother is waiting for me to bring the game home, and as soon as I open the door, Vick and Rory run to me. "How was she?" asks Posy, trailing after them in a little blue dress. One of Prim's hand-me-downs, probably.

I look at her with visible pain in my eyes. I know that my family care a lot about Katniss, and I just can't bear telling them that she hasn't gotten better at all. "Beautiful as always," I answer her, because that's the most I can say without upsetting them. I ruffle Rory's hair and walk into the kitchen, where my mother is standing by the counter, absentmindedly drying a dish that doesn't seem to need any more drying.

"How is she really?" she asks me once the kids are out of earshot. I lean my head back and stifle a groan; how is it that she can just feel when I'm lying to them?

"She's not better," I say automatically. Then I stop to think and add, "But I'm not sure if she's worse."

We stand silently for a few minutes, my mom busying herself with cleaning the rest of the dishes while I unloaded my game bag into small, separate containers. Then my mom suddenly turns around, stopping me as I'm putting a rabbit down.

"What if you take her to the traders today?" she asks me quietly, eyes darting out the window to make sure none of the new Peacekeepers can overhear.

I roll my eyes at the ridiculous proposal. "Don't you remember? They burned the Hob months ago. There's nothing left!" I remind her, not caring for volume control. If the Peacekeepers overhear, all they'll know is I'm reminiscing over the Hob. Then I look at my hands, and push all the meat off the counter and onto the floor, making it much less visible from outside the window.

"Yes, but," my mom continues, her back towards me as she stacks the plates with an obsessive neatness onto the shelves above, "I mean _traders_. Gale, I know you still trade with someone. Maybe they could help…you know…bring her back."

I consider the idea. "You mean like therapy," I clarify. I've heard before of this method of bringing someone back, but that was mainly used for Haymitch, twenty-five years ago after his Games, and it had turned him into a serious alcoholic. Still, if there wasn't alcohol involved…I nodded. "Okay. I'll even go get her now."

I turn to exit the kitchen, when she clears her throat. "Gale?" she asks. I turn around expectantly, and she gives me a half-smile and points at the floor. "Pack it up," she says, nudging my rabbit container with her foot.

"Hey, Catnip," I say, walking into the study. She's still sitting there from that morning, only now I can't tell what she's staring at. Not the rose, surely; I disposed of that on my last visit. "Are you busy today?"

She looks up at me and narrows her eyes. _How on earth would she be busy if she won't even go outside?_ I think, kicking myself mentally. I force a calm, peaceful smile. "It's a Sunday. You know what that means?" She stares at me, then collapses back into nothing. I raise her chin gently with my hand. "It means I'm going to trade. And you're coming with me."

"No," she mutters, shaking her head. She looks up at me again, voluntarily this time, and repeats herself once more. "They're going to catch you, and…and _beat _you, and…and…" A tear falls and suddenly she's crying, panicked, screaming. I look around worriedly before walking around the table to her, embracing her. She buries her face into my chest, sobbing heavily. "They can't take you away! Not you too!"

"They won't," I murmur softly, my hand running over her head, smoothing her knotty brown hair that seems to have been left untouched, un-brushed, for quite a while. "We're both safe." _From the Games,_ I add in my mind. What use is it agreeing that they could still kill us, even outside of the monstrous arena? I look into her eyes, her gray, almost insane eyes. "Alright, let's not go. What do you want to do today?"

She's calmed down now, taking deep breaths and regaining her depressed demeanor instead of her crazed one. She looks up at me hopelessly, and I see a certain kind of sadness in her eyes, the kind that once would've mirrored mine. Only now, she was too broken for me to find amusement in our likenesses to each other. Now, being cousins meant much more than staging it for the cameras. Family supported family, and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Suddenly I start sniffing. I'm a born hunter, there's little to nothing I can do to control myself once my nose has detected an odd odor. My eyes veer down at the table, where I see an untouched tray of cheese buns. I try to control my heartbeat, but I know that this meal has only brought back horrible memories that she didn't have to remember a second time. "Catnip, who gave that to you?" I demand, my voice shaking.

"Prim," she replies faintly, staring blankly into the distance. She finally looks up at me. "I want to go to the Meadow," she says firmly, gripping my wrist hard.

I nod. The Meadow. She hasn't been there since way before the second Games. This would definitely be considered good therapy—by my mother, or hers, or just about anyone. "Okay," I answer her, feeling myself beginning to smile. "Let's go to the Meadow, then."


	3. The Meadow

**Katniss**

The sun is well in the sky by the time we arrive to the Meadow. Honestly I'm not sure why I asked Gale to bring me here. It only reminds me too much of Rue, of my little ally during my first Hunger Games. It's not as if I've ever forgotten about her, but I'm not confident that this time—while I'm still so fragile about Peeta's death—is the best time to remind me of her. Still, I need to continue living. Maybe this is what it takes for that to happen.

"Well, we're here," Gale says, plopping himself on the floor next to me. He brings his knees up close to him and hugs them with his arms, looking over at me. I can't help but feel self-conscious as he stares at me. "What do we do now?"

I shrug, refusing to return the glance. Instead I examine the way the cool breeze ruffles through the oak branches high above our heads. Before I know it, I'm scaling the trees myself, reaching from one branch to the next. I can hear, somewhere below me, that Gale is struggling to catch up. Why shouldn't he? Isn't this what we always used to do in our free time after a good hunt, him trying to race me to the top of a tree.

But this is different, because his hands reach my waist and he pulls me off the tree, landing with a thud next to him. I eye him scornfully, and he blushes. "I thought you were going to try and…"

_Jump._ He thought I was going to _jump_. It's ridiculous how insane these people think I am. My head hurts, I just lost one of the few people that love me unconditionally, and I've been through the Capitol's terror twice. But when I try to get better, what happens? People assume I'm trying to kill myself.

"I would never jump," I scoff, glaring at my hands. Gale gasps, and I feel myself gasp a little, too. That's the most I've spoken in a very long time. At least, while not having a total mental breakdown. I exhale, exhausted, and quickly brush away any small piece of dirt or bark clinging to the surface of my hands. I look up at him. "We're best friends, right?"

I can see a small tear starting to fall from the corner of his eye, and he nods slowly. "The best," he affirms, his hand reaching up to wipe the tear. I beat him to it, using the tip of my finger to get rid of it. "Why?"

I fall silent. I'm not exactly sure why I asked him. Maybe I just needed to hear it once again. It's certainly been a long time since anybody's been a friend. I know Haymitch hates me now, more than ever, for killing his victor friends. _Let him hate me, _I think. _If he wanted me to go along with his stupid rebel plan, then he should've told me._

He sighs and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I know he doesn't mean it romantically, though. He knows I'm currently far too broken to fall in love with anyone else, even if that person is in love with me already.

_Is that what this is?_ I think to myself, allowing my head to rest against his shoulder. _Is he in love with me?_ I'd never actually thought about that before. Yes, he'd told me only a few months earlier that he loved me, but was that the same thing? And if so, would it still be true? I'd never given it much thought, since I had to be with Peeta. But now that he was gone, would Gale take me back?

What am I thinking? I'll never have a family. I've as much as sworn that to myself. Even if I did fall in love with someone, I wouldn't be any good to him. I can't give him a family. Not even for Gale. And he wants to have a family; he's told me so before. Why would he waste his time with me, then?

I feel his lips brush over my hair, and I close my eyes, sighing. I'd be lying if I said that I'm not hard-pressed to find anyone better than him right now.

_Anyone alive,_ I think bitterly, and I squeeze my eyes, trying to ward off the tears that are soon to follow after every thought involving Peeta. "Gale?" I whisper softly, biting my bottom lip nervously. He doesn't reply, and I take that only as encouragement. "Why did you say yes to running away with me?"

I know why. I know exactly why. And it's not like he didn't tell me before. _I love you,_ he'd said. But did he mean it? Would he still mean it now, that there's no danger of me no longer being his hunting partner?

He hesitates before turning his head, so that his cheek rests on top of mine. But his response isn't at all what I'd been expecting. "It's lunch time. I think we should go back…" I can tell there's more he wants to say, but as we walk our way back to the Victor's Village, I can't help but wonder if he said exactly what he wanted to. There could be a double meaning. _I think we should go back._

The strange thing is, I don't want things to go back to how they were before. My past is far too messed up for that to work anymore. Even if I don't deserve it, I want the protection I never gave in return, from the boy with the snares.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you guys so much for the reviews, you have no idea how much they mean to me. I seriously squeal like a little girl every time I check my inbox! Now, I've already PM'ed you personally, but for one reviewer that hasn't been possible. So **_**Fleur24**_**, thank you for your reviews in this story and in my other one (The Only Life Worth Saving), they mean the world! I'll try to update as soon as I can! By the way, I will not be dong AN's often. This is the one exception. Again, thank you!**


	4. The Peacekeeper and the Seam Boy

**Gale**

Katniss walks ahead of me, shivering in the sharp wind that's picked up all of a sudden. It's not entirely uncommon for 12 to have the bitter autumns, but for some reason this year is an exception. I suddenly wonder if it's an artificial breeze, fabricated especially for Katniss's second, and most important, Victory Tour this year, now that they've got even more reasons to get rid of her.

Nobody's told me just how much danger we're in, but I can only guess. She already warned me a few months ago that my life was on the line if she couldn't pull off the whole star-crossed lover bit with baker boy, but now that he's gone are we still in such a risk? It's impossible to say, and even worse to ask. I know she won't give me an answer I can use, not in the fragile state of mind she's in. I don't even bother asking her disgusting mentor, Haymitch.

I jog a little to catch up to her, and inadvertently slip my hand in hers. It's more in a little sister/big brother sort of way, a protective hold…but my hand still tingles in the warm spot where her skin touches mine. She looks down sharply at my hand, and I almost let go, until her grip tightens around my fingers and she pulls me along.

We're headed to her house, since it's where we usually gather to eat. My shabby house is apparently not the best place for two families, eight in total, to eat lunch. Besides, it's where the mental doctors from the Capitol have confined Katniss until she shows progress.

I wonder what they'd say about our unauthorized trip to the Meadow.

On our way through the Seam, we pass a little boy carrying a bucket of water. Katniss gives him a tight-lipped smile, but otherwise ignores him as she walks past. My gaze lingers, and I'm not sure why, until I spot the Peacekeeper headed our way. He doesn't exactly look too happy—but then again, neither do any of the other Peacekeepers these days. I even miss Darius, the old insufferable redheaded flirt that would throw obstinate pickup lines at Katniss.

"Where do you think you're going?" this Peacekeeper demands. For a second I worry he's talking to us, until I see he's too busy glaring at the little boy to notice a mentally unstable victor and a renowned hunter. The little boy recoils in fear, and the Peacekeeper slaps him across the face, spilling the water and sending the boy right into the dirt. "I thought I asked you for that water an hour ago! Does it really take that long for a stupid Seam kid to fetch a pail of water?" He raises his hand to strike, and before I realize it I'm standing in between them. What would've been a fatal slap to a little Seam kid ends up as merely a playful swap to me.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" I yell, and Katniss notices the racket and stops dead in her tracks. She turns around slowly, her grip on my hand tightening as she approaches the scene. I hear her muttering softly under her breath, but I'm not in the mood to listen to her warning. I'm sick of the Peacekeepers mistreating us so often! They're even going as far as picking on our children.

Suddenly I panic when I think that this could've been Rory, or Vick…or even Posy. At the thought of my baby sister being treated so cruelly, I become angry all over again, and shove the Peacekeeper backwards. "Leave him alone!" I snarl, stepping up.

"You have no authority to interfere with—" the Peacekeeper begins, but I hear the kid whimper and that infuriates me all over again. The Peacekeeper stumbles backwards as I push him again. He looks me in the eyes, and I see the dark brown eyes that are a common trait in Peacekeepers from District 2. Suddenly, any pity I might've had drains away. "Hey! What makes you think you can—wait, I know you—" I punch him square in the face before he says anything else that might upset Katniss.

I grab him by the shirt and pull him up to me, making sure he gets a good look at my eyes. Of course he'd know me. All the Peacekeepers know me. And not just as the boy with the wild turkey anymore. "You listen to me carefully now. You ever, _ever_ touch a Seam kid again, and you'll be sent to a Capitol hospital faster than you can say _nightlock._ Understood?"

The Peacekeeper gulps as I throw him onto the floor, and he scrambles to get away, muttering something about the outlying districts being packed to the edge with scum.

I toss a weary look over my shoulder at Katniss, who's looking pale and afraid. "I'm sorry," I mutter, embracing her. She nods but doesn't stop shivering as we walk the rest of the way home. "I didn't want to have to do that in front of you."

"How do they know you, Gale?" she asks quietly, afraid. "Is it because they…beat you?" Her voice is low, soft, as if she doesn't want anyone to hear, which she probably doesn't since she'll have the paparazzi following her everywhere for a while.

I shake my head, my arm tightening around her as we step on the artificially bright green grass that never seems to die all year round. "Let's just say the other districts weren't the only ones to struggle against the Peacekeepers," I reply just as quietly, placing my hand on the doorknob.


	5. Igniting Hope

**Katniss**

Even with the ongoing fireplace blazing just a few feet away, the dining room in our house is still extremely cold. I shudder as I pull on my sweater, trying to properly cover up my chest while biting into a freshly baked croissant. Mr. Mellark, the baker of 12 and Peeta's dad, has been very generous with his trades as of late. What would've gotten us a few stale crackers and maybe a small loaf or two in the past can now afford us large, thick loaves of bread and iced pastries. I try to think it's because Gale's hunting skills have improved over the months, but I know it's tied to Peeta's death somehow.

"More gravy?" asks Hazelle, holding out the bowl of the rich brown liquid to me. I shake my head, offering a slight smile before I go back to sulking. It's no use being so depressed that I shut out everyone and anyone trying to help. Still, it's easier said than done.

"So, Prim," Vick pipes up, sending all our gazes over to him. "I heard you and Rory hit it off well last week." I turn to Prim and raise an eyebrow. _Is this true? _I seem to ask. Vick continues as if there's nothing strange about this. "I mean, didn't you guys spend forever in the shed with Lady? What was _that_ all about?"

"Shut it, Vick," Rory hisses from his left. Surprised, we all look at the usually sweet, quiet twelve-year-old. "There's nothing going on." By the way he's blushing, and Prim's avoiding his eyes, I can intuit that there's _something_ going on. I make it a point to ask her about it later.

"Oh, whatever," scoffs his younger brother, gearing up to strike again. "You wouldn't be the first Hawthorne head over heels for an Everdeen, now would you?"

"Now you've done it," Hazelle mutters, pressing her fingers to her closed eyes. She takes deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. I see she's the only one that's bothered to hide her rage. Gale, on the other hand, is flaring his nostrils and staring daggers at his food. By the way he rips off part of the croissant and dunks it in the gravy, splattering all our placemats, I can tell in his mind it's not the bread that he's destroying.

"What? I'm just saying!"

"Well, stop it!" We all turn to my mother, who's spoken up for the first time tonight. She looks really upset, her face flushed, her eyes slightly teary as they go from looking at Vick to looking at Rory and Prim, sitting awkwardly side by side and as far from each other as physically possible. "You're upsetting—"

I don't hear what else she says because by the time she finishes her sentence, I'm already on the second floor, halfway through the door to my bedroom. I fling myself on the bed, throwing the covers over my entire body, including my head, so as to hide from the outside world. I'd been trying to hard to forget everything, so hard to just let it go, move on, have a pleasant supper for _once_…and then Vick had to come along and ruin it. Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean it. He was just teasing them! He is, after all, barely eight, not nearly old enough to understand the possible conflicts arising from such poorly chosen words.

Not after long, I hear the door creak open like it had that morning, down in the study. Gale steps in and sits at the edge of the bed, running his hand over where he must've thought my back was. I didn't move for fear that he might discover that was, actually, my side. "Just ignore him," he says quietly, pulling the covers off of me. Thankfully, I haven't been crying, so he's not immediately preoccupied.

"Well, is it true?" I dare myself to ask, sniffling a little bit. I avoid his gaze, and instead focus on Gale's quick hands, which are braiding my hair down my shoulder.

I can tell the question shocks him, and his hands falter, letting a strand of my hair fall through his fingers. His other hand scurries to catch it, and he weaves it back into the rest. "Yes," he breathes, tying a small string around the end of the braid. His forefinger, blackened by weeks of coal mining and roughened by years of setting snares, winds around the loose end of my braid, and he gives it a small, playful tug. I try not to wince, but the truth is that, since Johanna gave me that concussion, everything in the head hurts. "But I'm not expecting anything from you."

"Oh." I'd been ready to give him a speech about how I couldn't give him a family, how I'm too damaged right now to even think that way. I hadn't expected this from him. Given his demand the past winter season, and hardly anyone would've expected him to so understand the matter. I chew my bottom lip before asking my other question, the one that kept my head throbbing. "Gale, how do the Peacekeepers recognize you? You said before it…it had something to do with protesting…" When he doesn't reply, I get a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I sit up so quickly the room starts to spin around me, and I grip his arm to keep my balance. "Oh, no. Gale, _what did you do_?"

That's when he explains to me everything that happened during the Quarter Quell, while Peeta and I had been fighting our own battles in the arena. He tells me how, at first, there was talk in the mines of overpowering the Peacekeepers. Then he tells me about their futile attempt of doing so: providing too much coal in highly flammable places to ensure that they went up in flames, only resulting in more casualties than necessary. By the time Gale finishes his story with the arrival of more Peacekeepers, I'm on the brink of crying, if only because I realize I'm the reason for these newly implemented security measures. If I hadn't become the Mockingjay, our little district would never have been attacked so severely by the hand that supposedly fed them.

Gale must notice this because he takes my face in his hands, which are surprisingly soft compared to the rest of him, and wipes away my tears with his thumbs. "Catnip," he murmurs, tucking my head under his chin as he soothingly runs his hands over my back, "you've got to stop blaming yourself for this."

"But it's my fault!" I cry out, trying to stop the horrible hiccup-like noises I'm making as I sob. I feel him shake his head, and I'm utterly confused, until he explains.

"Don't you understand? You gave us something that nobody can take away, something worth dying for," he tells me, pulling away so I can look him in the eyes.

I loo down at my hands, filled with shame. "I gave you guys a war that isn't yours," I mutter in reply, deciding to let myself be petty.

"No," he says, more firmly this time, as if he's determined for me to agree. "You gave us a fight. You gave us a leader." He grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. "And you gave us hope. And that's so much more than we could ever, ever expect from you."


	6. The Worst Kind of Pain

**Gale**

There's a crash in the middle of the night, followed by screaming that I immediately recognize as Katniss's. Luckily, everyone in our house is seemingly undisturbed by this horrifying moment, except for me. I reach into my closet for the only weapon I dare keep in the house—a small slingshot and a large, sharp rock—and grab my jacket, then run through the light snow and barge into Katniss's new house. The door squeaks in protest, its shiny new hinges joining to complain along with the wood brushing on the floor, but I'm too busy running up the stairs two at a time to reach her. I'm not expecting anyone to be attacking her—I don't even know why I brought the slingshot, maybe in case I couldn't enter the house and had to shoot at the window—but I still panic, especially when I remember the crash.

"Katniss!" I shout, bursting open the door to her bedroom. She sits on her bed, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face, and I can tell immediately she's shaking uncontrollably as her hands comb through her hair frantically. Suddenly I realize they're covered in blood. I look around to find the source, only to see the remains of a window just a few feet away from her. I instinctively run towards her, scooping her in my arms. She's shaking her head.

"Pe—Peeta!" she gasps, out of breath and choking on a sob that just won't come out. "Gale, Peeta's…I have to save him!" she cries, and I speak softly to her to bring her out of her nightmare.

"Katniss," I whisper soothingly, "it's just a nightmare. You already saved him. Now, let me see your hands." She whimpers but lets go of her hair, and as soon as I lay my eyes on her hands I know it's bad. They're covered in blood, most of which is already starting to form a thick crust over each cut, which stands out against her olive skin. "I'm going to take you to your mother, okay?" She nods faintly in reply, and I carry her downstairs and towards her old house in the Seam.

"What is this?" I ask, half an hour later. Mrs. Everdeen has been hunched over the table, closely examining Katniss's cuts the entire time, before she pulls out a small sewing set along with a half-empty vial of clear liquid. I eye the liquid suspiciously, wondering where I've seen it before—I've definitely seen it, but the memory is too foggy to recall.

"It's a painkiller," she says to me absentmindedly, pouring a droplet into a small syringe. Prim clings to Katniss's waist—whether out of love or to restrain her, or both, I can't tell—as her mother points the needle at one of the bulging veins.

"Is that all you're going to give her?" I ask incredulously, gaping as she injects it into Katniss. The effect is immediate, and I can see Katniss relax into the chair as Prim carefully, slowly lets go of her. I snatch the syringe from Mrs. Everdeen's hands, and the vial of the painkiller, and clumsily attempt to pour the whole bottle into the crystal cylinder. I can't believe she would give Katniss such a small amount, when she is so obviously in pain! Even though she already looks much better—her face is no longer flushed, her eyes have lost that wild, crazed look they had when she was screaming and crying, and she's even got a hint of a smile going on—I'm scared of the moment her blood has sucked out all the peacefulness of the drug, and she's aware of the pain again.

Mrs. Everdeen huffs, frustrated, and steals the vial and the syringe away from me. She quickly wipes her hands on her nightgown, before grabbing a small, thin needle and stringing a thin material through the hole. "We have to give time for the morphling to fully take effect," she sighs as she adds a few quick, neat stitches onto Katniss's hand. Then she lets it go, trusting Prim to press snow on it, and begins to work on the other one. "I don't want her to overdose, which is surprisingly easy to do."

My eyes widen at the name of the drug, and I automatically remember where I last saw it. On the same kitchen counter, as I lay on the table roughly a year ago. It had been the first public whipping that 12 had seen in years, and it so happened to be mine. Katniss was there, too, holding my hand. She'd…_she'd kissed me,_ I realize, and my fingertips reach up to touch my lips, a blush spreading across my face. Katniss had kissed me. She hadn't run away with Peeta or Haymitch, or anyone else. She'd chosen me. The girl I love had stayed behind for me.

"You need to give her more!" I plead anyways, putting my hands on Katniss's shoulders gently. "What if it runs out? What if it stops working, and it hurts her?" I clench my teeth at the thought of Katniss getting hurt just because her mother wanted to save the precious morphling.

She shakes her head sadly, and Prim walks around Katniss to press ice into her other hand. "It's like you two are made for each other," she laughs lightly, patting my head as she yawns and walks away. Prim looks at me shyly, blushing, before she runs after her mother.

I sit next to Katniss, and gingerly take one of her hands in mine. She winces slightly, but doesn't complain otherwise, and I look at it, contemplating the perfect stitches that her mother has done to fix up her hand. "You're going to get better," I say to her in a low voice.

She looks at me sleepily, fighting off the effects of the morphling as her eyelids struggle to close. "I hope so," she breathes in reply.

I lift her hand and kiss it before putting it back on her lap. "I love you," I whisper in the quietest voice I can muster. It's been about a year, also, since I last said that to her. Or first said that to her. I wince subconsciously, expecting the same negative response that she'd given me that time.

But it never comes. She leans her head to the side, slipping away into a morphling-induced sleep. I gently lift her onto my legs, resting her head on my chest—which must be monumentally more comfortable than sleeping on a chair the rest of the night—and hold her in my arms. I'm on the brink of unconsciousness myself when I hear her whisper one word, one name, so quietly I almost miss it.

"_Gale._"

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really sorry it took so long to update this chapter, I was busy writing for my third fanfic. Anyways, I'll try to update the next one as soon as I can! Ooh and also, R&R—because it kinda feels like I'm talking to myself sometimes…**

**PS: Sorry about the AN, I'd said I wouldn't include anymore.**


	7. Stay Strong

**Katniss**

"Do you love him?"

A smile creeps on my lips as I take a baby blue ribbon and weave it into the blonde braid in my hands. Prim never was one for discretion; instead she often just blurted out whatever was on her mind. I don't offer an answer, though. I just finish the first braid, lacing the ribbon around the end and tie it in a small bow before picking up the other half of her hair.

"Because it's okay if you do," she continues, hardly bothered by my silence. She looks down at Buttercup, the detestable cat currently invading her lap with his hideous yellow fur, and strokes his back slowly. I grab a dandelion I'd found the day before, as I was walking through the Meadow with Gale—who'd decided to make it a routine every Sunday—and carefully tuck it into the second braid, draping her hair over her shoulder.

"What makes you say that?" I ask finally, turning her shoulders towards me so I can brush any loose strands of hair behind her ear. I'm not just humoring her this time; I genuinely want to know. Maybe because I'm too uncertain myself of whether or not I love Gale. I'll never know if I loved Peeta—I'm not going to go through that again.

She picks Buttercup off her lap and cradles him in her arms like a baby, but her attention is directed at me. "Well," she says slowly, as if she thinks I might not be able to handle it. In truth, I may not, but I need to know anyways. "I know he loves you. And I know you only talk to me and to him. You don't even talk to Hazelle anymore!" I open my mouth, ready to protest, but Buttercup hushes me with a low growl and I continue listening to my sister. "You spend every Sunday together in the Meadow. And…" she dips her head shyly for this last comment, getting up to leave for school as she adds, "he's the only one that wards off your nightmares now." Then she's gone.

I slump back into the kitchen chair, confused. Is it true? I know I don't talk to my mother anymore, unless it's got to do with Prim or with some medical care for my hands that I broke a few weeks ago—and even then it's a limited conversation, because I refuse to rely on her too much—but do I restrain my communication only to Prim and Gale? Spending every Sunday together is just part of Gale's plan to get things back on track. I'm not sure if I would count that as a sign that I could possibly love him, or be in love with him.

As for the nightmares…It's true that every morning I wake up, he's propped up against the wall by my bed, head to the side as he makes up for those lost hours during the night.

There's a knock on my door, which, honestly, I'm very surprised to hear. I stand up, smoothing out my nightgown and my hair before reaching for the doorknob. Outside, in the cold, stands a snow-covered blonde girl, her golden curls tied into a ponytail on either side of her head, just below her ears, which are covered in fuzzy disks I immediately recognize as earmuffs. She's shivering, but I find it hard to pity her when she's chosen to wear a thin fur coat, a white dress with golden buttons, and pale leggings. "Hi, Katniss," she says, her teeth chattering nonstop.

"Hey, Madge," I reply, waving her into the house. _What is she doing here?_ I think, but not out of meanness. Isn't she supposed to be at school? She sits at the far end of one of our plush sofas, sinking in as she stretches out her hands towards the fireplace. I sit across from her, on another sofa, eyeing her carefully. We haven't spoken in months, ever since I came back from the Quarter Quell. I can't tell if I've been avoiding her, or if it's been the other way around. Maybe a bit of both. I ask finally, "What brings you here?"

She shuts her eyes and digs through the hidden pocket in her fur coat, finally fishing out a small green envelope. "This is from our class," she tells me quietly, handing it over. "Don't open it yet." With that, she stands up, quickly kisses me on the cheek, and heads back out. I stare at the envelope, trying to resist the urge to open it, and instead tuck it underneath the cushion she was sitting on.

Gale is in the mines, working, and Prim is at school the whole day. Instead of being idle for the seven hours until she comes back, I decide to work on what Prim had said, the thing about me only speaking to her and Gale. I quickly change into a pair of thick, wintertime hunting pants, a white wool shirt, and the white fur coat Cinna had given me for last year's Victory Tour.

_Cinna._ At the memory, I run my fingers through the fur, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. I wonder how he's holding up. The few times Portia and I spoke on the phone, she told me he was slowly getting better, but the Peacekeepers had hurt him a lot, so he wasn't expected to return to work for a few more months. Meaning Portia would take over his stylist duties for this year's tour.

I lace up my boots, brace myself, and head outside. Thankfully, only a light snow is falling. I slowly make my way past the other Seam houses, until I've reached the Hawthorne place. I stand outside for a minute, eyeing the cold stone structure and the slight smoke coming out of the chimney, before knocking.

My mother opens the door, much to my surprise. Usually she stayed put in our old house in the Seam, until Prim got home from school and they both walked over to Hazelle's. I can tell she's startled to see me, too. "Katniss," she gasps, opening the door a bit wider. She pulls me in through the doorway before I have the chance to leave. _Oh, well,_ I think to myself, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. _I might as well talk to her, while I'm here._ But talk about what? It's gotten increasingly obvious that we don't see eye to eye anymore. Still, it's worth a shot.

"Thank you for fixing up my hands," I mumble, holding them up in what I hope is a grateful gesture. She smiles a tight-lipped smile at me before drinking some of the mint tea sitting before her. I take the hint and walk over to Hazelle's cupboards, picking out a small ceramic mug and pouring some tea for myself. I sit back at the table, sipping the tea as we both struggle to think of something to say.

Finally, my mother speaks up. "When was the last time you went hunting?" she asks and there's a cold, hard edge to her voice, as if the question is somehow incriminating.

I shrug, pretending to try to remember. It's not that hard. I haven't gone hunting at all since I cam back from the 75th Games. "A while," I mutter evasively, picking at the chipped painting around the mug. I make a mental note to buy her a new one. "Why?"

She ignores my question and asks another one instead. "How come?" she demands, and I can definitely sense some bitterness in the way she asks me that.

I sit up straight, already in the defensive shell. "I couldn't just go hunting, Mom. You know that!" I answer just as angry as she sounds. "They turned on the fence. It's dangerous. Besides, Gale is providing for us, and we can afford to pay him back, to pay the butcher for some good beef."

She leans forward in her chair, eyes narrow. "That's not the only reason why," she whispers accusingly. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize what she's saying. "You have _got_ to snap out of this, Katniss! Prim and I are worried sick about you!" Her voice has been rising as she tells me this, but then it drops down to a regular level. "Katniss, I know this is hard for you. It was hard for me, too, when your father died." I stiffen instinctively at the mention of his death, but she takes no note of it and instead continues. "I'm not asking you to forget him. I'm asking you to do what I couldn't, and _stay strong_. You have many more people to disappoint than I had when it happened to me. Think." I lower my gaze, but she gently lifts my chin, forcing me to stare into her blue merchant eyes. "_Think_, Katniss. Peeta wanted you to come back. Is this how you think he would've liked you to live the rest of your life?"

By then, I'm completely numb, as her words strike a nerve in my mind. No, this isn't how he would've liked me to live the rest of my life. He would've liked me to live on happily, maybe marry Gale in the end, and start a family. At the very least, let him go.

Walking back to my house in the Victor's Village, I think about what my mother said. It's not fair for me to have accused her of completely blanking out on us after my father's death, only to do the same thing six years later because of Peeta. _I'll be strong,_ I think, determined.

I reach the door, and just decide to finally be honest to myself. _Just not yet._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much for reviewing! I wake up today and read all the reviews and I squealed like a little girl! And sorry for the long chapter, I wanted to include Madge and Mrs. Everdeen's little speech. **


	8. The Gold in the Mines

**Gale**

The woods are silent, except for the cold breeze and the snow falling despite the bright sunlight. I'm technically not supposed to be here, but I told Thom that I needed to be excused from coalmining, since my "cousin" was mentally unstable. Apparently that was reason enough for me to miss work.

I glance back over my shoulder, at the fence that's now always buzzing with electricity. Suddenly I wonder how much work District 3 is wasting on keeping 12 contained within its boundaries. I bite my tongue to keep from cursing out the Capitol that treats us like their slaves, and instead keep walking down towards the blueberry bush and the large rock where I always found Katniss so we could hunt. I retrieve my wire and springs from underneath the bush, looking to my right, where there is a hollow tree that hides Katniss's bow and arrows. I don't bother shooting; I'm not nearly as good as she is.

Suddenly I panic—the wire, the springs, everything's gone! I whip around, expecting a Peacekeeper to come out from behind a tree, holding my snare materials. Instead I hear a frustrated grunt, and a snap, and I can't help but wonder who is messing around with my weapons. I tiptoe around a large oak tree, the only physical barrier between me and whoever is at the other side. I peek past a low branch, and am surprised to see Rory, of all people, trying to set up a snare.

"You're doing it all wrong," I call out to him. He jumps up and lets out a high-pitched scream before realizing it's me. A blush spreads across his face and he tosses the materials to the side, crossing his arms angrily. "No, don't quit!" I tell him, picking them up and putting them on his lap as I take a seat next to him. "You just need some practice."

He looks up at me, eyes narrowed in a quizzical stare. "Aren't you supposed to be working at the mines right now?" he asks impatiently, probably upset that I've embarrassed him. I shake my head, less than willing to answer. He must see something in my face that shows him I don't really feel like talking to him, because he doesn't ask anything else.

I look at him sadly, knowing it must be hard to handle a brother like me—dealing with unrequited love, trying to sustain not one, but _two_, families, and already having neared death with a beating—and suddenly I remember something Vick said a while ago. "Hey, Rory, what's going on with you and Primrose?" I ask curiously.

He blushes, and by the way he immediately avoids my eyes I can tell Vick wasn't just teasing. There is definitely something there. "I—well, we…Gale, she's beautiful," he says finally, lowering his gaze sheepishly. "But I know she would never go for me. She's a merchant kid; she's the only good thing in 12. The gold in the mines. And I'm just…me."

I turn to him sharply, anger starting to boil up inside me. Those had been my same thoughts whenever I'd seen Katniss kissing Peeta in the Games, or in the tours. "No, Rory. Don't say that about yourself. If you do, you know what'll happen?" He shakes his head, puzzled as to why I'm reacting so strongly to his comments. "She'll start to feel like that, too, because that's how you're presenting yourself. Prim is a beautiful little girl, just like you are a handsome young boy. Just like your brother." I wink at him and he lets out a short laugh. I rub his shoulder before sending him off on his way, following him for good measure.

On my way back home, I suddenly remember the strawberries I'd collected walking back to 12, and immediately spin back on my heels, headed towards the mayor's house. Besides, I need to ask Madge about something that's been bothering me for a while. The trip will be doubly beneficial.

I knock on the door and patiently wait outside while she rustles through the keys, undoubtedly because her father, the mayor, implemented vast security measures in order to protect her. Finally the door swings open, and she's standing in front of me, looking slightly puzzled, as usual, at my presence on a school day. I hand her the sack of strawberries and she smiles gratefully, blushing, before starting to close the door on me.

"Madge," I say, "no." She looks over her shoulder, making sure her father isn't there, and then opens the door again, allowing me to go inside. I follow her through the doorway, careful to clean my boots on the way in, and she sits me across from her in the living room by the fire. As I warm my hands, she goes into the kitchen; only to come back seconds later holding a silver tray with tea and some thick brown liquid.

"Hot chocolate," she explains, watching me take a tentative sip. I raise an eyebrow, and she adds, "They import it from 11 if there's a surplus from the Capitol." She sits there staring at the fire for a minute or so, before I finally speak up.

"Have you told Katniss?" I ask, worried. I've been itching to tell Katniss about the incident, but Madge and I both decided that it would be better to hear it from her. Katniss and I are close enough that she'll forgive me for anything; but if Madge is thought to have kept it a secret, I don't know how long it would be before she was forgiven.

She shakes her head slowly, raising her gaze to look at me. "We've only spoken once since she's come back. It wasn't exactly a hearty conversation," she informs me, much to my surprise. Then my stomach drops, because if the conversation wasn't centered around the incident, there was only one other object of interest between them.

"You gave it to her," I say gravely. It's not a question, but a statement. She directly disobeyed me—not that I didn't expect this—and could hurt Katniss in the process.

"I had to, Gale!" she spits back defensively. "Peeta _loved_ her. And she might still think part of it was for show. She needs to know that what he felt was real! She deserves to have it."

I shake my head in disbelief, too disgusted to even look at her. How could she torture Katniss that way? There's a reason—and a very good one, too—for which I hadn't volunteered to give the envelope to Katniss. And, surprisingly, it isn't involved with any personal feelings of mine. Although probably those wouldn't have made me want to give it to her. "Don't you see?" I ask, frustrated. "You're making it worse! What good would any of this do for her? He's _dead_, Madge. _Dead_! There's nothing we can do about it."

She glares at me before standing up. "I think you should leave," she whispers angrily, headed to open the door for me. Before I walk out, she adds, "You can come back when you're not so…" She takes a deep breath before closing the door. "Bitter."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I've got a pretty good idea of what goes inside the green envelope, but I want to know what you guys think is/should be inside. Any ideas?**


	9. Letting Go

**Katniss**

I stare at the green envelope, much like I stared at the snow-white rose that the president had given to me after the Quarter Quell. It looks as alienated to me as the plants in the arena this year, maybe even more, since in the arena I knew, at least, it would certainly kill me. I'm not sure whether or not this artifact is going to be good or bad. I can only hope, since it was from our class, that it is good.

Then I realize the bizarreness of the situation. _Our class? We don't have a set class. Everyone has class with everyone._ Meaning only one thing: Madge had made that up. But if "our class" hadn't given me the envelope…whose was it?

Finally I pick up my first weapon in months—a letter opener, of all things, something that could certainly be useful in the arena—and slice open the envelope. I set it on the desk, prodding inside it with the blade of the letter opener carefully. Not long after I've poked the knife inside, I feel it knock against something. It must be small, to fit inconspicuously inside the envelope. I carefully take out the object, then nearly drop it out of surprise.

It's a golden wedding ring.

I examine it closely, placing it on the table and leaning in to look at it. It's not Capitol-extravagant—I think Effie would've personally dumped any man if he'd given it to her—but by 12's standards, it's a wealth. Studded on it is a small pearl, and, upon closer examination, I find the word _Always_ engraved inside. A hand flies to cover my mouth, but it's too late. I'm already starting to sob, just like I always do when I remember Peeta. I tear open the rest of the envelope and find a letter inside, yellow and soft, as if it has been waiting there for months. I carefully unfold it, as delicately as if it were one of Peeta's wounds I helped nurse back to health, and lay it open in front of me.

Finally, after a few minutes, I gather the courage to read it.

_Katniss-_

_Your hair was in two braids instead of one. It was parted right down the middle, and your father had walked you to school that day because you refused to leave him behind. Every student in the classroom knew the valley song, but we were so glad you were the one chosen to sing it. All the birds—mockingjays, bluebirds, canaries—outside the window stopped singing, and only your beautiful voice rang out, clear as a bell, as you sang the song._

_That's my life, you know. Everything that's good and beautiful can stop entirely, cease to exist, as long as you're there, the sound of your voice reminding me that I have something to live for. That something is good in this wretched world we happen to live in. _

_The Quarter Quell is the worst thing that could've happened to me. To us. I won't say that being forced into the 74__th__ Games was a cakewalk, but I don't believe that they'll allow us to both live again. I stand by my decision in our first Games together. I'll die, as long as you live. I can already imagine your reaction to this. You would never allow it. Just like I would never allow you sacrificing yourself for me. But if you make it out of these Games without me, I'd like you to have this ring._

_Originally, this wasn't the ring Effie had helped me pick out for our wedding. In fact, this isn't even from the Capitol. We had the blacksmith, Iron, make it especially for you. I hope you can appreciate the little joke with the pearl now that I'm not there to laugh about it with you. _

_Yes, if you are reading this, it means I'm gone. But only physically. I made a promise to you, last year that I would stay with you always, and that is what I am planning to do. I will be there in your laughter, in your sweet dreams. I'll be there to wake you up from your nightmares. I'll be there in every orange sunset, every green leaf. I'll always be there, Katniss, remember that. I'll always love you. And I hope you learn to love, too. _

_With you always,_

_Peeta_

I sink down to the floor, my knees turning to Greasy Sae's wild dog soup. Tears are streaming down either side of my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off reality. With the presence of the letter, I can almost feel Peeta telling me it's okay, hushing me with one of his soft kisses, begging me to stand up because he can't stand to see me like this.

This is finally when I realize his intentions. Telling me he's lingering by, watching me constantly, always in my dreams. It's not to make it more difficult for me to let go of him—it's so that, if I refuse to live on without him, that I am able to live, with him. As long as he's with me, he knows I'll have the will to continue with my life. He's given me his blessing, if anything, to finally leave my nightmares behind.

I look at the ring, still sitting on the tabletop, and I slip it onto my finger. It's really no matter that it's smaller and less exotic than a Capitol-made artifact; it's perfect with its imperfections, with its odd dents and its pearl instead of a diamond. The word inscribed in its center, _Always_, rubs against my skin as I close my hand, liking the feeling of it.

I drop the letter and the green envelope, not thinking twice before I'm running outside, through the grass, to the Meadow. There are no dandelions yet; spring hasn't begun. But oddly enough, it's as if I can feel the small seeds planted inside the earth, eager to burst through the soil and bloom. It's my first time in a long time being there by myself, without Gale to guide me back to safety. A small part of the old Katniss resurfaces, the girl that loved getting in trouble and taking risks, sneaking around to the places where nobody could tell her she didn't belong, because, truthfully, nobody belonged there.

I fall onto the ground, laying sprawled on my back, the soft blades of grass tickling my cheek as I stare up at the sky. My arms embrace the trunk of the large tree, the foot of which my head lays on, and I close my eyes peacefully. Inhale the scent of the grass, of nature, as the green leaves above me rustle with the breeze and the sun begins to set. The sky is just turning a soft orange when my eyes burst open, and a smile subconsciously spreads through my lips. And finally, with all these reassurances that he'll be there no matter whether or not I'm holding on, finally, I feel myself ready to let go.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I admit it, I ship GALEENISS. I just can't choose! And I might as well admit, I suck at leaving cliffhangers. So for those of you who might've guessed it was a letter from Peeta/a wedding ring/a gift from Peeta, then congrats! **

**PS: I almost died while writing this. It broke my heart.**


	10. Covered in Coal Dust and Icing

**Gale**

"Hey, Gale," pipes up Thom, swinging his pickaxe over his shoulder as he rushes to catch up with me. Aside from Katniss, I might as well consider Thom a close friend of mine. We sort of grew up together, albeit in different sides of the Seam, and since Katniss was never in my class or in my lunchroom, I needed to find someone to talk to.

"Thom," I nod in his general direction, busily scraping some coal from underneath my fingernails. True, he's my friend, but at the moment I'm not in the mood to talk to him. Or anybody, at least. Ever since Madge confessed that she'd given Katniss the wedding ring, I was on edge. Would Katniss become sick again? Insane? Would they have to fly in a special medical crew and send her back to a psychiatric ward? Would they take her away from me yet again?

Strangely enough, Thom doesn't seem to notice my odd behavior. Instead we walk in silence, side by side as he recently moved near my house with his new wife, past the small Seam shacks. It's no longer snowing, but it's still cold enough to set our teeth chattering, especially in the ridiculously thin miner's getup that they've issued us. Far ahead, I can just see the barbed wire resting atop the supposedly electric fence. Maybe if I squinted, and if the wind wasn't sending leftover snow and coal dust everywhere, I could make out the hole where Katniss and I always sneak out to the woods.

Suddenly Thom slips—probably on a stray chunk of black ice—and he lets out a whoop just before landing on his back on the ground, my arm grasping at his elbow. He lets out a sigh of relief, his breath exiting his mouth like smoke, before standing up and patting me affectionately on my shoulder. "Thanks!" he says, before shooting me a suspicious look. But I realize he's not looking at my eyes, as one usually does; he's looking at my cheek. His voice hardens. "What is that?"

I subconsciously reach my gloved hand to the brilliant red welt running across my left cheekbone. Images, flashbacks, dance before my eyes as my fingertips press harder, causing stars to appear in my line of vision.

It was just a normal night, and my mother, as usual, insisted I keep sleeping in Katniss's room to make sure she doesn't have any more nightmares. Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose usually spend their nights at the old house, away from the nightly screaming. I was sleeping on the floor, as usual, dreaming about a bear fighting a sly fox over a beehive, when the nightmares began.

Katniss was more active than usual, thrashing around in her bed, flinging pillows across the room. By then I should've known better than to approach her, try to stop her from hurting herself without the least intention to protect myself. It was just so horrifying, seeing her wasting herself like that, crying and screaming and flailing right in front of me when I could take all that and make it disappear. It seemed so selfish and cruel that I finally stepped in.

That was roughly around the time when she punched me.

When she woke up, I denied her involvement, saying instead that someone thrust his pickaxe with slightly too much force and the handle grazed my face on its way down the mine. I could tell she didn't believe me—she glared at me suspiciously the entire time we were out in the Meadow—but I couldn't let her know the truth. I knew she wouldn't be able to forgive herself—anytime soon, at least—for hurting me, and I knew that if the weight of the knowledge was borne by me alone then it would be easier for her to receive forgiveness.

I glance over at Thom and realize he's still expecting an answer. "Walked into a doorframe," I lie, staring at him right in the eyes. As one of my crewmates, he's gotten used to my stealth, and even more so at my clumsiness. It isn't that hard for him to accept the fact that stupid old Gale crashed on his way out a door, so he shrugs it off. Once we reach the fork in the road, we go down our separate ways, waving goodbye at each other.

The moment I step through the door—extra careful not to crash into the doorframe—I feel that something's not right. Not normal, at least. Maybe it's our conflicting past, or the knowledge that I owe it my best friend's life, but as soon as my nose catches a whiff of freshly baked bread, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle up. I walk cautiously into the shabby dining room, where, sure enough, my mother and Mr. Mellark are seated, smiling and drinking mint tea. On the table between them lies a tray covered in baked goods: croissants, bread loaves, iced pastries, integral cookies—you name it, it was probably on that tray.

"Hello, Gale," my mother says, glancing over the baker's shoulder at me. Perhaps it's the way her hair is tousled instead of neatly parted down the center, or the brightness in her eyes, but something about her looks younger. I'm about to utter some sort of halfhearted greeting when the baker turns around to look at me.

And I'm momentarily frozen.

I've only seen Mrs. Mellark, Peeta's mother, a few times in my life. There was a story travelling around the Seam that she was a witch, luring children into her household only to stuff them up with pastries and slowly cook them and eat them, so you made it your goal to stay out of her way as much as possible. In all the times I'd caught a glimpse of her, I couldn't help but notice how unlike her Peeta looked. Now I could see where he'd gotten his most striking traits. His eyes, always blue and full of life, were unmistakably his father's, as is the covering of sandy blond hair that distinctly set merchant kids apart from Seam kids. Even the kind way Mr. Mellark smiles, so genuine and with such compassion, is a ghost of how happy Peeta looked almost all the time.

I was never one for mourning, never have been and never will. But now, looking into the happy eyes of a man who has lost his son to the Capitol's cruelty, and been rejected—at least according to Peeta in the 74th Games—by the love of his life, I find myself missing the baker's son more than ever.

"Mr. Mellark," I say reverently once I've regained the capacity of forming intelligible speech. "What brings you here?" I take a seat in the empty chair across from the jolly baker.

He sighs and gestures towards the tray. "Well, Katniss came by this morning," he drawls out in his town accent, "and dropped off your game. Said she was just the messenger, and since you're the one that shot it, then I should bring you the reward."

I smile, pretending to listen to the man, when in reality I'm trying to piece together the puzzle. I haven't been hunting recently, and all the new game has been eaten or traded off to Rooba, the butcher. There's no way Mr. Mellark could get his hands on one of my kills yet! But if I didn't hunt the game…who did?

As soon as I realize the truth, I bolt out the door, leaving Mr. Mellark and my flustered mother in half sentence. I run straight for the Victor's Village, careless as to the Peacekeepers and Seam people throwing nervous glances my way.

Katniss went out to hunt.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry for the late update! Thank you all so much for your reviews, and once again I'm so glad none of you guys hate me for killing off Peeta! Anyways it took me a long time to write this (well, to start writing this) because I didn't know what I wanted Gale to do, so I kind of let him do it first before putting it in my computer. I'll try to update the next chapter as soon as possible.**

**PS: I finally moved into our apartment (and out of the hotel). Yay! **

**PPS: This is the 2****nd**** version of the chapter because I JUST realized there was a mistake on the other one. Cheers!**


	11. The Lit Chimney

**Katniss**

The rustling of the leaves, sweet rushing of the creek merely a few feet away. These sounds consume my thinking as I pull back the bowstring, aiming at a nearby doe. Gale hasn't had a decent kill in ages and I bet he'll be damned when he realizes I've gotten the first doe in months. I'm about to release my arrow when the sun's golden reflection catches my eye, and I find myself staring at the ring. It's been hard to get used to it: every morning when I wake up and rub my eyes, and I feel the pearl on my eyelids, it's like I'm finding the ring all over again.

In the second's worth of hesitation, the doe sees me and scampers off into the woods, deep into the foliage where neither Gale nor I dare venture alone, even when completely mentally stable. I curse under my breath, breaking my streak of focusing only on material, simple things—avoid that tree, watch out for that branch, listen for a squirrel—and my mind wanders off after that doe, to a place where I'm usually too scared to let it go.

Prim's words echo in my mind as I take cautious steps to the blueberry and blackberry bushes by Gale's and my large rock. _Do you love him?_ I've been racking my brain these past few days trying to figure it out, while I'm as far away from him as possible—in the Meadow while he's at the mines, working—to be clearheaded. I love him, but I also love Prim. Is it the same kind of protective, sisterly love? Or is it something more romantic?

I give my head a slight shake. _Katniss, you're hunting,_ I remind myself, stringing my bow once more as a slight sound betrays the presence of another being nearby. I aim low at the bushes, where I know for sure that there is _something_, and have just about shot it down when Gale jumps out from behind the leaves, wiggling his fingers around to try scare me. I laugh and take a step back, surprised at my giddiness. Everyone knows it's been ages since I've had a good, hearty laugh, or even since anyone's bothered to try and make me smile. Suddenly out of nowhere, literally, Gale manages it in one shot.

"Damn you, Gale!" I hiss, my smirk growing as I finally lower the bow. "I was just about to skewer you!"

It's his turn to laugh mockingly as he takes a few long strides towards the clearing. "Like you would've hit me," he scoffs sarcastically, taking a seat on the rook next to me. He picks one of the blackberries nearest to him and tosses it up in the air, only to catch it with his mouth seconds later. He grins at me, showing off the dark remains of the berry on his teeth. I grimace and haul the game bag onto the rock. I have a mind to look through and make Gale help me pluck the few birds I've caught, but Gale has another thing on his mind.

"So," he says nonchalantly, rummaging through the bag. "What exactly am I taking tonight to the lovely baker?"

I stiffen at the mention of my secret trading with Mr. Mellark. At first I'd done it just to help Gale bring in more customers, more baked goods from the kindhearted man that was Peeta's dad. After a while, though, I have to admit it's become my therapy. Going out to the woods and focusing on nothing more and nothing less than hunting has helped me more than any Capitol doctor could. It's certainly working better than keeping me locked up in my house in the Victor's Village.

"I'm sorry," I say finally, dipping my head in shame. He's caught me now. I shut my eyes and hope that he won't tell me to stop trading for him, because—I might as well say it—trading with Mr. Mellark keeps me from losing my mind over Peeta's death. Of course, now I'm actually allowing myself to _live_ (a huge improvement from before) but it's easier to mourn with someone who cared for Peeta as much, or more, as I did. But I don't say this to Gale, because I know his usual reaction: a stiffened jaw, a strained voice, and hot temper. I can't afford any of these if I'm going to keep my mind in place today.

He grunts in response and fishes out his knife from underneath a patch of overly long grass, getting ready to fix the game from today. I've pulled in a wild turkey—Gale's specialty—as well as a few squirrels, a couple of rabbits and I picked a few strawberries for Madge's sake. I haven't talked to her since she brought me the green envelope, and I'm hoping that the strawberries will be a good excuse to exchange some words.

On our way to the mayor's house, Gale suddenly halts and turns to me, blushing wildly. "I just remembered," he stammers, walking backwards with the full game bag, "Need to give this to my mother, she wants to cook dinner for all of us and…I'd better go." I nod at him, giving him my consent—which he probably wasn't even waiting for—and continue heading to the Undersee house.

Luckily, all the Peacekeepers that usually keep watch of the manor are gone, dispatched for the night, so I don't get any confrontation over the musky smell of pine and meat that looms over me. I knock four times on the door, the agreed amount that signals that it's strawberry delivery, and at once I hear Madge's light running across the marble floor. The many locks at the other side open, and she's standing in front of me, wearing a lovely white fur robe with dyed pink edges.

"Katniss!" she chirps, exhaling smoke-like breath. "Hi!"

"Hey," I reply, struggling to maintain a wholehearted smile on my face. I dangle the sack of strawberries in front of my face, and, excited, she reaches out and grabs them from me. She presses them to her lips, probably impatient to devour them behind the kitchen door. Then, as if she's just remembering I'm still standing there in the cold, she turns to me abruptly.

"Won't you come in?" she asks, and I can tell that there's genuine concern on her face as she gestures towards the seemingly warm insides of the house.

I shake my head hesitantly. Hazelle and the others would be worried if I didn't at least check in on them, especially now that Gale's left me to fend for myself out in 12. "No, I'm sorry, I have to go have supper," I tell her, and her face falls in dramatic contrast to the upbeat expression she had on half a second earlier. I give her a slight smile and wave goodbye, but not before promising her that I'll join her and her family for supper some other time.

I turn and head back towards the Victor's Village, stopping momentarily by Rooba's to make sure she's received my game from Gale. As I enter the horseshoe-shaped grassy area—which I'm convinced is fake, genetically-engineered grass, seeing as it manages to stay green year-round—I'm stopped by a sudden movement to the east. I turn my head, and, sure enough, there's a faint line of smoke rising a few ways into the woods. I take off in that direction, haunted by a post-Games feeling that whenever I see smoke, it means fire, and not the good kind.

I follow the trail, only to end up at the old abandoned stone cottage hidden in the woods, where I sheltered Bonnie and Twill and asked Gale to take off with me. The only thought in my mind is, _Someone's lit the chimney._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Have I ever told you reviewers how much I love you guys? Seriously can we get married or something? Y'all are amazing, thanks so much for keeping up with this story (and being patient with my super slow updates), it really means so much to me! And just a quick question (don't feel obliged to answer, it's just out of curiosity), how old do you guys think I am? **


	12. Just a Kiss

**Gale**

It was just a kiss.

Katniss had just been pronounced the winner of the Quarter Quell on television. I was usually working in the mines while they broadcasted the Games, but, sensing that some huge event was going to take place, Mayor Undersee had all the citizens of 12 watch the large screen in the decorated town square. He even had Thread and his Peacekeepers take away all the torture weapons for the occasion. I was standing in the far corner with Vick while my mother, Rory and Posy stood with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen in the front line, right up at the screen, eagerly watching the ongoing massacre in the arena.

I was discussing with Vick the hunting strategies being implemented on-screen that could come useful when he was older and we went out to hunt. All of a sudden, there was the last boom of a cannon, and a wave of cheering swept over the population of our district. I turned to look at the screen, searching for the cause of this turmoil, and, sure enough, there stood Katniss, covered in blood and dirt, her thinning hair braided down her shoulder, and I could see the despair in her face as she frantically ran from one patch of sand to the other. She was probably searching for Peeta, out of disbelief that she was really the last one standing.

The realization of this stiffened my jaw, and before I realized what I was doing, I was heading away from the square unwilling to see her being crowned and interviewed over the loss of her "star-crossed lover" and district partner. I didn't know where I was headed, or what I was expecting to find, but I just knew I had to get away from the square as soon as possible. Suddenly I felt a soft small hand on my arm, pulling me back. I jerked, ready to fight off a Peacekeeper; but to my surprise it was just Madge Undersee, the girl who always traded strawberries with me and Katniss, and—if Mrs. Everdeen was to be believed—the girl that supplied the morphling to save me when I was whipped that past winter.

"Gale," she said sternly, her voice low. "Katniss won. She's coming back! And as her best friend, you have no right to be so upset about this!"

I stopped walking, tilting my head back to listen to her. She was right, after all. I had no right to be mad at the fact that she might be upset about losing Peeta. I'd seen the way she looked at Peeta; of course she'd be upset. Even _I_ probably would've been upset, if I wasn't so wounded. Madge's blue eyes softened as she realized I'd calmed down, and she stepped up, studying my own eyes. "You really love her, don't you?" she whispered, a hint of a smile tracing her lips.

I looked down at my feet, blushing slightly. She deserved the truth. She'd given me my life back, and she deserved to know. "I don't know," I muttered, embarrassed. Most boys my age were already in love, maybe even married in some cases.

Madge only pursed her lips, before standing on the tips of her white shoes, her lips brushing lightly against mine. It only lasted a few seconds, and I probably should've felt something—butterflies in my stomach, the urge to keep kissing her, my heart skipping a beat—but all I could think about was how Katniss kissed Peeta in the Games, and kissed him again every time they saw each other in front of the media.

When Madge pulled away, I was so surprised I stumbled slightly backwards. I looked down at her and was somewhat relieved that I wasn't the only one with a red face. She looked at me sheepishly and asked, "Did you like it?"

I stammered a reply, but by the quietness of my voice and the cheers still going on at the square, it was hard to make out. Even now I don't know what I said, though I figured it was something like "I don't know". She fell back onto the heels of her feet, somewhat disappointed, and nodded, as if she expected this anyways.

"Congratulations," she said half-heartedly. "The girl you love is back."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for all the reviews! I usually reply to reviews through PM's so here are some anons I should answer:**

**Percabeth 1189: Thanks so much for your review! Greatly appreciated, as always.**

**noname: Wow, really? Thanks! And well you're a few years off, I'm almost 15 (but good guesses) and don't worry, you're not reading into it at all. There's a good reason, and I might as well just say it. He doesn't really want to see Madge because he's uncomfortable because of the kiss (mentioned above), and he's still kind of mad about the green envelope. **

**I'll update tonight or tomorrow because this is a super short chapter that I just had to release. Thanks again for the reviews! Y'all are awesome!**


	13. Soldiers from Thirteen

**Katniss**

I slide the door open slightly with my foot, then risk poking my head around the edge of the door. It's eerily quiet—I'm used to Gale not caring much for subtlety when he's so hidden into the woods—and for a second I'm wondering if I was right about seeing the fumes in the air, when I hear it. The quiet crackle of firewood nearby.

Cautiously, I step into the cottage, careful not to make a noise. Sure enough, there's no telltale smell of pine, no game bag left carelessly on the floor. It's not Gale. But if he's not the one that lit the fire…who is?

"Freeze!" calls a tremulous voice from behind me. I instinctively reach for my bow and arrows, only to remember that I stashed them back in the hollow tree. I raise my hands slowly and turn around, trying to control my trembling. I shut my eyes waiting for the sound of a gunshot that never comes. Instead, there's something of a gasp, and I open my eyes and stare at a slightly stocky woman with brown hair streaked with gray, pulled up in a bun. She's wearing drab gray clothes, and a bulletproof vest over them. I'm wondering just how cold she is when I notice the gun being pointed at my chest.

"Are you…" her voice, so authoritative at first, trails off. She clears her throat and begins again, adjusting the gun towards me. "Are you Katniss Everdeen?"

I nod heavily, feeling my arms lower themselves. She's still glaring at me, but not quite so suspiciously. Then, after what seems like forever, she finally lowers her gun, outstretching her arm. "Jackson," she says, shaking my hand vigorously. She points at one of the rooms in the cottage. "And my commander Boggs is over there." She leans in and whispers, "Met up with some stray Peacekeepers on the way."

I let out a breath I didn't even realize I've been holding, but then I struggle to piece the bits together. "Wait, on the way?" I ask, confused. "On the way from _where_?"

She hesitates before taking my arm and leading me into a room. On the bare bed, there is a middle-aged man with shortly cropped gray hair and a nasty scar along his cheek. He's spread out, unconscious, on the mattress, and there's a thick bandage around his torso that is slightly stained with blood.

"Boggs," Jackson calls out to him, gently shaking his shoulder. He wakes up and blinks a few times before zooming in on me; then he sits up, wide alert, and winces at the pain it must cause him on his chest. "This is Miss Everdeen."

There's something odd contorting his face, and for a second I fear it might be a grimace, a wince, until he finally breaks out into a relieved smile, and I realize the emotion that overcame him: elation. I don't know this man personally, I doubt he knows me personally…and yet he is so overjoyed at seeing me that he doesn't even consider me—a victor, a killer, a huntress—a threat. "Katniss," he breathes, taking my hand and shaking it just as hard as Jackson did, something I can just tell must be killing him. "I'm Commander Boggs. So nice to finally meet you in person."

"We're soldiers from Thirteen," Jackson explains in a hushed voice, glancing out the doorway for Peacekeepers. I don't bother telling her that the lazy Capitol guards probably wouldn't risk going through the electric fence to check up on smoke that could simply be a small forest fire. "But we're not staying for long."

Boggs and Jackson study me for a second, what it takes for me to realize that they're waiting for my response to this. The only thing that comes to mind is to bombard them with questions.

"District Thirteen? Weren't you destroyed by the Capitol?" I demand, flying at them with anger. They _abandoned_ the rest of us, the rest of their fellow slaves, to the Capitol's mercy, and here they come now with fancy machinery and trained soldiers, now that other districts are slowly being annihilated. Hate is not a strong enough word to describe what I feel.

Boggs groans as he sits up, sliding a hand over his stomach as he looks at me. "Katniss, listen," he says, his voice urgent. "Now's not the time or place to discuss this." He knows, then. He knows that as a double victor, there is no way I'm not being tracked. In fact, it amazes me that I haven't been hauled off to the Capitol by now for trespassing into the woods. Now I could get busted on a daily basis for just leaving my house.

Jackson turns to Boggs, eyeing his injury. I swallow a thick lump in my throat as I go through my mental list of medicines that could probably heal his wound in five minutes, medicines too far away to fetch. She looks at me, eyebrows creased as if she can't make up her mind about something. Finally she says, "Boggs and I are just here to check the general situation of 12. I'm afraid there's not much we can do, only the two of us, to help your…predicament."

"We'll be back with a larger group after your Victory Tour," Boggs adds, using Jackson's shoulder as support to prop himself up against the beat-up bed board. "For now, we're useless." Jackson stands up, leaning to aid Boggs in doing the same. He hisses in pain, but lets her wrap one arm around him to hold him up.

I turn to them, surprised that they're leaving so quickly with only the night—not even a blizzard, nothing—to cover them. "Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask, my teeth gritting at the thought that I have so much to hold against the Capitol. Finishing them off is my only way of possibly repaying Peeta for all he's done for me. "Help…rebel?"

Jackson purses her lips tightly, sizing me up. Finally she just says, "Look pretty in the Victory Tour." Then, just as they're walking out the back door of the cottage, she turns and adds, "Especially in District 11."

_District 11_, I think over and over, walking back home. I'm only thirty minutes behind Gale in arriving, but I'm expecting some sort of worried ambush when I step through the door. _They must've meant it as some sort of warning._ But warning for what? A rebellion? Are they going to do some major uprising in that poor, overpopulated district? My stomach churns at the thought of Rue's little sisters engaging in such a violent war. Surely they wouldn't be able to survive, and Thirteen must know that, being such a malnourished crowd, the people from Eleven would never be able to pull that off.

I'm five steps away from the door when a Peacekeeper intercepts my entry.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Aah I hate cliffhangers as much as you do, trust me. I wasn't even going to add it until I typed it! Anyways, I loved Boggs in **_**Mockingjay**_** and he was going to appear here sometime. Reviews are encouraged as always, and thanks for keeping up with this story! I hope I've made it worthwhile! **


	14. Trust the Victor

**Gale**

There's a commotion going on outside the house just as Rory, Vick, Prim and I set the table. My mother turns around, alerted by the noise, Posy still slung on her hip. "What was that?" she asks anxiously, looking around to see if we'd dropped a plate or something similar.

I shake my head in confusion. Nothing's been dropped or broken, and I know for a fact that there's little to no wind today—uncharacteristic at this time of year, but not entirely unwelcome either. I feel my back stiffen as I make my way towards the door, passing a confused Mrs. Everdeen on her way to the kitchen. Before I even open the door, I can tell something's definitely wrong here.

"Well, I'm not just going to sit there and rot to death!" Katniss yells. I burst open the door, ready to defend her, and am utterly confused to see two Peacekeepers and what looks like a Capitol doctor standing before her. I position myself in between them, my arm protectively drawing Katniss behind me as I take in the situation. It's so odd, to see a Capitol citizen in our drab little district. His hair, in what seems like its natural shade of brown, is sticking up all over his head, looking like he just got an electric shock. Which, if he was coming through the fence, he just might have. He's wearing the mandatory clean white uniform, holding a clipboard under his arm.

"Is there a problem?" I ask in my most authoritative voice, desperate to hide any trace of confusion. It's completely uncalled for that there should be anyone fancy in our district, unless you count our—most likely—mentally disturbed, perky escort, Effie Trinket. My gaze flickers from one Peacekeeper to the other, as they both take a slight step backwards, as if offering only the doctor to me.

"I'm Dr. Aurelius," the man says matter-of-factly, reaching his arm out. I stare at it for a few seconds before remembering that in the Capitol, where everything's sweet and spice and everything nice, it's considered good manners to shake someone's outstretched hand. "I'm Katniss's designated therapist from the Capitol. I've been dispatched here by President Snow to do a checkup on our dearest victor." He smiles at Katniss as he says this, but I'm too busy trying to control my shuddering from the name of our despised president.

"Well," I tell him, stepping back so I'm at the same level as Katniss, who is still glaring at the doctor, "now you see there's nothing wrong with her. Thank you for stopping by." I start to lead Katniss back through the wooden door, but a Peacekeeper swiftly moves to stop us.

"That's just it," replies Dr. Aurelius. "There _is_ something wrong with her. I believe she was confined to her home in the Victor's Village until our specialists back in the Capitol noted some progress." With that, he brings out the clipboard and adjusts glasses I haven't even noticed that he's wearing. "From what I have here, she hasn't gotten any better. I'm curious to know as to why she'd venture out of her house in direct violation of our orders."

Katniss is silent, but she crosses her arms and stares sullenly at the ground. After a minute or so of awkward silence, I realize I'm the one expected to reply. "I thought it might be good," I croak finally, when my mind has fumbled together a plausible excuse that won't give away the illegality of our actions. "She needed the fresh air, not the pampered air conditioning that smells like mint."

Dr. Aurelius nods and jots something down in his notes, but his face remains the same: emotionless. Finally, he looks up, tired, and I can tell he doesn't really care about this so much as about a nap. He sighs, "Katniss, you are not to go anywhere but this house, your house, and the Victor's Village." I'm contemplating just how much trust the doctor is putting on Katniss's rather unreliable shoulders when the Peacekeepers step forwards, shove me aside, and one holds Katniss down while the other one is clamping something on her ankle. She squirms and releases herself from the guard's grip, her foot noticeably weighed down.

"Just in case," Dr. Aurelius sniffs, before the two Peacekeepers escort him away in the direction of the town.

I look at the heavy object around her ankle, a strange metal contraption that I immediately name the ankle breaker, with odd lights that blink at an unsettled pattern. Tentatively, I reach for it, and realize that Katniss is playing it tough. The thing must weigh quite a few pounds. "A tracking device," I mutter, standing up. At the word _tracking_, Katniss stiffens, shutting her eyes as her hands ball up into tight fists. I chastise myself mentally for using a word that could so easily remind her of the arena. _Tracker jackers._

"Stupid Capitol," she mutters under her breath, bursting into the house as the ankle breaker chips off a bit of wood. She doesn't even bother to apologize before she's reached the main hallway.

As everyone's already seated around the table, only patiently waiting for our entrance so they can start eating the rabbits Katniss and I managed to pull in, nobody takes notice of Katniss's foul mood or newest accessory. Prim eagerly pats the empty seat next to her, which Katniss takes with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. I seat myself next to Posy and my mother. There's somewhat of a stiff silence until Vick proclaims, "Oh, let's just eat already!"

We all laugh and start carving into our meals, Katniss and I exchanging half-hearted smiles as we realize that there's enough for everyone to have seconds, since Rooba has been fairly generous with her trade today. Maybe it was the good news that the meat was picked off by Katniss, always a top-notch huntress, but the butcher was rather sentimental when I went inside.

After a few hearty conversations, as well as some good-natured jokes from Vick about Rory and Prim, we all become absorbed into the food. It's not that difficult to do, actually; it just takes a while because by now we've gotten so used to good baker bread that we almost immediately notice its absence on the dinner table. When someone actually points it out—Primrose, of all people, has certainly missed the pretty cupcake that has, until now at least, been waiting for her—it only brings a sad smile out of Katniss and absolutely no reaction out of myself.

Several times throughout supper, I notice Katniss's pupils widening, a thin sheen of sweat appearing and disappearing on her brow. From across the table, I can tell she's struggling with something, so when the time comes to clear away the plates, I volunteer her and myself for the job. I pick up after my family as she picks up after hers, all the time keeping a weary eye on her. But she doesn't smash a plate against the wall, doesn't try to cut herself—or myself—with the broken ceramic. Instead she marches to the kitchen with an air of determination that I can't put my finger on. Before leaving the kitchen, I grab her arm and pull her back. There's something wrong, and I doubt it has much to do with the shackle.

"Catnip," I whisper, searching her eyes for some sign of what has happened. I find nothing. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

She lowers her gaze, and if I didn't know better I would say it's just out of shame, and she wrestles out of my grip. "Not here, Gale," she mutters in reply, eyeing me scornfully. "Not here." She strides out of the kitchen, and at first the strange little limp of her leg merely echoes the ankle breaker, until I see them.

Red scars, as fresh as our meat, lining up perfectly with the edges of the shackle.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Out of a cliffhanger and right onto a new one. I know, I hate it too! Thanks again for the reviews, just reached 40 and I'm officially over the moon! Now, to my dear anon reviewer that I can't PM:**

**noname: Why, thank you! And I agree, I was never one for Gadge, but I wanted to include a little bit here to not keep Madge too OOC (at least, I **_**hope**_** nobody's OOC!) Well, right now I'm 14 but I turn 15 in August. And thank you! **


	15. Under House Arrest

**Katniss**

Sitting idly in the living room of my Victor's Village house, in the large space occupied only by two couches and a tea table, I find it incredibly hard not to despise the Capitol. My ankle-bound tracking device digs into my skin as I press my foot against the leg of the chair I'm in. The pain is not entirely unwelcome—maybe if Dr. Aurelius and his cronies realize how much harm the shackle is causing me, then they'll take it off once and for all. There isn't much entertainment other than constantly calling Portia to check up on Cinna's recovery. I don't even bother going over to Haymitch's—I know Hazelle is probably doing a better job than I ever could.

Gale and I strike an unspoken agreement. He still brings me meat, and I trade him for it, no matter what he says in protest. We can't talk like we used to, at least not in the Victor's Village house, but we still do talk. At least I have that.

Every night, after Gale is back from the mines, he takes me to his house in the Seam, where Hazelle always has a wonderful supper laid out for all eight of us by the time we arrive. Prim and my mother become too preoccupied with other matters—Prim with school and Rory, who's apparently declared his feelings for her, only to find out they've been reciprocated all along, and my mother with more and more victims of the abusive Peacekeepers—to spend time in my house, watching over me, so another deal is made for Hazelle to come check up on me every once in a while when she's free from maid duties in Haymitch's house.

I hear the door click open, and Hazelle pokes her head around the pale, eerily clean wall, her hair messily tied into a bun as she sets down her basket of cleaning supplies. "Hey, Katniss," she says softly, making her way to the couch across from me. I smile in reply. That's the good thing about Hazelle: she knows how I am, knows my nature and what I'm used to, so she never pressures me into a response I don't want to give, or a gesture I don't feel like doing.

She rubs her hands together, and I notice they're starting to become drier. Maybe it's the cold, but, if it is, I know my mother concocted a lotion that helps with that. "Do you need something for your hands?" I ask, not even bothering to think how it may be taken as an insult or a not-so-subtle hint about the damage. She gives me a tight, sad smile, and shakes her head. I insist, "No, really. My mother has a herbal lotion, it works great for—"

"I know, Katniss," she interrupts me, folding her hands on her lap. I tuck a stray hair behind my ear and lean forwards, motioning for her to explain herself. "It's not the first time my hands become this dry. It's just, I know a lot of people that would find a better use for your mother's lotion. Besides," she adds with a bitter chuckle, "I'm not bleeding _yet._"

_Yet._ The word echoes in my head as I realize how strong Hazelle has become. She's lost her husband in the mines, been forced to raise four children all on her own, had her oldest son and food provider near death by whipping, and when it comes to do something that cannot rightfully be considered as selfish? She insists on giving it to other people. Hazelle, I realize not for the first time, is a hero.

Meanwhile I, the apparent face of the rebellion—at least according to Boggs, Cinna, Bonnie and Twill—am sitting in a pool ankle-deep with self-pity, digging my skin into a shackle just to get it taken off. There are no words strong enough to describe my shame.

As if she can read my mind, which I have to think hard if she can't, she leans forward and looks at my new accessory. Her eyebrows shoot up in a question she doesn't dare to ask, and she sniffs regretfully, sitting back. "Does it hurt?" she asks instead, not daring to take her eyes off the shackle. I shift my foot, which is considerably difficult to do because of the weight of the apparatus, and shrug. But I can tell she sees at least part of the wounds, because her eyes widen and she gives a slight gasp. "Should I get your—"

"No!" I protest quickly, eager to change the subject. If my mother cures the cuts, Dr. Aurelius and his crew won't think there are any negative side effects because of the awful shackle, and I'll be forced to wear it endlessly. Then I realize how desperate I sounded. "I mean it's okay. I barely notice it anymore."

Hazelle nods, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. Thankfully she chooses not to push it. She gets up, clapping her hands twice, and bends to pick up the basket. "Well, I'd better go," she tells me, walking to me and smoothing my hair. Then she plants a kiss on my forehead and heads straight to the door. I remember something long overdue and call her back suddenly.

"Hazelle!" I say. "How is he?"

She gives me a rueful smile as she opens my door, stepping outside. "Honestly? He's no better than you." And she's gone.

I recline back onto the chair, trying to decipher her meaning. No better than me? I thought I was doing great! Well, if you don't count digging my ankle into the cuff, being confined to the Victor's Village and my house and Gale's house in the Seam, my previous therapy starting to take a reverse effect as I stop trading with the baker.

Okay, so I'm not in the best shape either. But Haymitch _must_ be much worse than I am! And though there's no evidence to prove me otherwise, I'm pretty sure that I have no match against an alcoholic victor. I reach down to scratch my ankle, subconsciously going for one of the scars, when I catch sight of the ring on my finger and stop. It's amazing how much I feel Peeta's presence now that he's gone and I only have this small token to remind me of him. Of course, there's the original pearl, but for sanity's sake I've given it to Prim—along with the parachute, the mockingjay pin, and basically every other reminder of the Games.

Suddenly the phone starts ringing. For some reason, I immediately assume it's Portia, and I run to pick it up, ignoring the slight limp due to the shackle. "Portia!" I say breathlessly, not even pausing to consider that there may be other people trying to reach me through the phone.

"Hi, Kat—Oh, no, my dear," chirps up a high-pitched, heavily accented female voice I recognize only too well. "This isn't Portia, but if you want I shall put her on the phone once I'm finished speaking with you. It's me, Effie!" I can almost hear the exclamation marks in her voice that punctuate every single one of her sentences. I picture her bobbing around excitedly, stroking her cat or mouse or whatever she keeps as a pet, as her obviously fake pink curls bounce around her head.

"Oh, hi, Ef—" I manage to say before she continues, interrupting me. Huh. Effie, interrupting me. It's almost like a paradox.

"I'm just calling to verify the date for the Victory Tour," she goes on, her voice rising and falling and looping in the annoying Capitol accent. Sometimes I have to wonder if she's faking it.

"Oh, when is—" I try again, but she cuts me off. Again.

"Monday, Portia, your team and I will arrive in District 12 to begin the preparations," she adds enthusiastically. I roll my eyes, fingers combing through my hair as I ineffectively try to tune out my annoying escort. Then I process what she's saying. Monday. That's in four days. Four days before I have to leave District 12 and go to District 11 and _look pretty_, according to Jackson and Boggs. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize, I have no idea what to expect.

"Is Gale coming?" I ask suddenly, undoubtedly interrupting something very important she's trying to convey to me.

I can hear the shock in her voice. "Gale?" she clarifies, as if she thinks she may have misunderstood me. "Well, it's not scheduled…" There's a sound like someone flipping papers, and I can hear the scratch of a pencil, and then she tells me, "Actually, that may just work out after all. I'll have to make some readjustments, he'd have to sleep on a mattress on the floor in your bedroom, not that you'd mind, since you're family, right?" She doesn't give me time to protest—not that I would—and keeps chattering on and on about ordering extra food at meals, and having to buy some male products. Finally she blows a kiss into the phone and says goodbye, never mind the conversation she said she'd arrange for Portia and I.

I set the phone down with a _click_ and run my hands through my hair nervously. How am I going to tell Gale that he will have to travel in a train full of Capitol attendants?

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone for the reviews! I finally stuck Effie into the story. I'll try to update as soon as possible but tomorrow **_**is**_** Monday and I **_**will**_** be at school, so no promises! **

**noname: Aw, of course you're dear to me! (All my reviewers are dear to me!) And I hope this chapter answered your question. And happy way early birthday! (Yes, I am a girl. I just kind of assumed everyone on this site is a girl, soo my bad! It's nothing personal!) **


	16. The Good Little Cousin

**Gale**

"No."

The word is out of my mouth before Katniss is even done explaining. I storm off in the opposite direction, away to the door of her Victor's Village house. She _knows_ how much I'm against the Victory Tour, knows more than anybody else how much I despise this cruel tradition of remembering the 23 children—or in this case, victors—being sacrificed for the Capitol's amusement. And now she wants me to take the front seat for it?

Get real, Catnip.

"Wait, Gale, please!" she cries out, and by the rustling behind me I can tell she's trying to follow. With the speed and condition she's in, I doubt she'll get far from the village before some Peacekeeper tracks her down and drags her back. She gets a hold of my arm and pulls me back into the house, looking at me with sad, pleading gray eyes. "Gale, I talked to Effie, she says it's fine, really, it's no—" she begs, rushing. I let out a loud, sarcastic laugh in reply.

"Oh, she says it's fine? I get the honor—no, the _privilege_—to go out and celebrate the deaths of all those innocent people?" I demand, putting my hands on my hips accusingly. I don't dare look at Katniss though; I know if I do, and if I see the desperation in her eyes, it'll only force me to agree with her plans. "Katniss, this isn't about permission!" She flinches, knowing that I usually say her real name for her safety or if I'm upset.

"Gale, I don't think you understand!" she says quietly, tears brimming over her eyelids. I look at her out of respect, and try to focus on her nose, ignoring her saddened gaze. "Last year…" She takes a deep, shaky breath, then begins again. "Last year, the only reason I didn't go crazy—didn't go completely insane from my nightmares—was because of Peeta." My jaw clenches at his name, but she ignores it, just like I've been ignoring her own signs of weakness. "He was my…my only…anchor to real life. And now he's gone, and I can't go there by myself, Gale."

I risk a look at her eyes, and I immediately realize how selfish I'm being. My best friend, the girl I love, is being shipped around Panem, becoming subject to a different kind of torture, and I'm actually willing to sit by and watch—literally—in the comfort of my own home, seeing as she slowly deteriorates back into the empty shell she was only weeks ago. "Fine," I growl in the lowest voice I can muster. Then I point a finger at her before she can say anything, and add, "But I'm _not_ going to let them groom me!"

She actually smiles and flings her arms around my neck, bringing me down to her level. I'm so surprised I find myself wrapping my arms around her waist, and I'm taken back to another time we were this close together, rejoicing in the chance of leaving our flawed, brittle little district. Suddenly I remember what else happened that night. _I love you._ I'm actually considering whether or not to test that option again, now that she's not being forced to fake being in love with Peeta, when I feel it. Them, actually. Her lips, soft and light, brushing over mine. I can sense her smile in the movement, smile myself in return. Suddenly her eyes burst open and she steps away, leaving me standing there confused. It's not until I see how she's averting her gaze and blushing ever so lightly that I put two and two together.

She's embarrassed.

Suddenly I hate the way that she's hastily combing her fingers through her undone braid, the awkward silence that falls. Why does she feel so guilty kissing me? It's not like it's the first time. "Catnip, hold on!" I call out to her, rushing to follow her into the kitchen where she's busily stacking cups and plates into different piles, though I can tell she's waiting for me to continue talking. "That was—why did you—"

She turns around abruptly, and I can see that her face is brilliantly red. "I don't know, Gale. I honestly don't. I have too much on my plate right now—the Victory Tour, being confined to the district and this damn house—to think about _romance._" She spits out the word disgustedly, and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as if to rid herself of the taste.

I finally am able to process what she's said, and my eyebrows shoot up in confusion. "But…Katniss," I say incredulously. "_You_ kissed _me._"

She freezes, and I know she's trying to piece it together. She kissed me. Not the other way around. But why is it so hard for her to remember that? "Oh," she says quietly, and looks up at me apologetically. "I did. I'm sorry."

I roll my eyes, frustrated. Why is she sorry? Why does she feel so damn guilty? "Stop saying sorry," I growl under my breath, leaning on the kitchen counter. She sighs and shuts the cupboard, then wipes her hands on the apron I hadn't even noticed she was wearing and makes her way to the table, sitting at one end. I sit at the other. "Why is it so wrong for us to kiss?"

"Because we're cousins, Gale," she retorts coldly, fixing me with a look that suggested I stop questioning her. "We're cousins, and, at least for the time being, I have to grieve. You can't let me slip like that again."

"But _why not_?" I demand, becoming increasingly angry. She's just trying to please the Capitol, but, aside from a few empty threats and the total replacement of our Peacekeeper force, they've done nothing to make me question my ability to ruin all their perfect, pristine little plans. "Just because of the Capitol? Is that it? You're just going to sit here and play the good little widow, while—Oh, get this, you _weren't even married_!" I finally just allow myself to explode, say all the things I've been holding back since her first kiss with Peeta.

She shakes her head in disbelief to my acclamations. After I'm done shouting and settle down, I realize how much steam I've been boiling up. She looks at her hands remorsefully and says in a low voice, "You don't know what they're capable of."

"Then _enlighten_ me," I hiss sarcastically, leaning across the table. Though I meant it as a mean comment, I couldn't help the curious tone that escaped. What were they capable of? Killing innocent children every year? I knew that. "Just _what_ are they capable—"

"Darius," she says finally, her voice strong and firm and cold, her eyes staring at me with a hard, intense look. "Darius is what they're capable of. He's an Avox, and you will be too, if you don't play the good little cousin."

Throwing my own words back at me. Huh. Go Katniss. I didn't think she had it in her. But then my mind puts the pieces together, and I stand up, even more infuriated than before. "What do you mean, an Avox?" I ask in the lowest voice I can muster. She quickly explains to me, and by the end of her speech I'm so repulsed by the Capitol that I sink back into my seat. "Is there anything else I should know?" I ask finally. She sneaks a look at me, then glances out the window just as a couple of Peacekeepers march by the window, staring indoors. One elbows the other, and laughs, and they shake their heads in disbelief and continue to walk.

At first it seems she's going to shake her head, but she changes her mind and says instead, "Do you remember District 13?"

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: You guys all probably hate me (maybe) for procrastinating, but understand that that is not the case at all! I've had some…complications and haven't been able to update. Anyways, would this count as a cliffhanger? And as always, to my anon reviewer that I can't PM:**

**noname: I haven't had the chance to read it yet, but I will, when I have more time. And thank you! And yes, his house is bugged, but less so than the one at the Victor's Village. (Even then, they still don't talk too much in his house anyways.) **

**I'll try to update ASAP!**


	17. The Hovercraft

**Katniss**

The Monday that Effie, Portia, and the rest of my prep team arrive to 12 is an especially windy afternoon. I can tell by the way the hovercraft lingers above the district longer than usual that they were not expecting this sort of environmental weapon. No matter. The Capitol has enough technology to fend off a tornado. After they've landed, four Peacekeepers march up to the doors, guarding the crowd as they make their way out of the vehicle. Effie Trinket, my previous escort, is sporting a bright green wig this tour, along with a pearly white pants suit and black, knee-high leather riding boots, laced up to the top. Oh, what I would give to have such good quality shoes for when I'm out hunting. Of course, they'd have to cut off those high heels first.

I'm considering fabricating an arrow out of such heels when Effie and Portia—who looks completely unchanged since the Quarter Quell, with her hair as orange as ever and the only other trace of enhancement being a light trace of red lipstick—reach me. While I'm done packing and have been anxiously waiting for the arrival of our committee, Gale is still packing slowly, and helping Haymitch pack. I tell them both that it won't matter what we pack, since we can only wear what the stylists have left for us, but they've both decided to ignore me.

"Katniss!" Effie calls, waving at me. She stumbles over the gravel in her killer shoes and kisses me quickly on both cheeks, patting my head affectionately, and then wiggles her fingers over my shoulder. In the distance, I can see two figures—Gale and Haymitch, probably—making their way up to the large, luxury hovercraft. Then she turns back to me and grins.

"Portia!" I say excitedly to Peeta's stylist, who is only a few steps behind our escort. She is wearing a plain black jumpsuit with a black furry cape, the hood hanging around her neck. Her heels are shorter than Effie's, but still make her noticeably taller.

She opens her arms and embraces me, and I inhale the faint scent of vanilla that must've been from her perfume. "Katniss," she replies softly, her fingers combing through my loose strands of hair. Finally, Gale and Haymitch have caught up with us. It's stunning to see Effie transition from warm, welcoming escort meeting Gale for the first time, to cold, annoyed, manners gung-ho.

Her nose visibly wrinkles in disgust when Haymitch approaches her, letting out a good-natured burp along the way. "Yes, well," she remarks snidely, "we shall all be on our _very best_ behavior on the tour, shan't we?"

I can see the corner of Gale's eyes crinkle up at the tone, as well as word choice, in her speech. I'm trying not to smile, myself, but Haymitch gives her a strong pat on the shoulder before stumbling aboard the hovercraft. One of the Peacekeepers goes to help him, while another comes up to Gale and me and takes our luggage. I turn to Portia and we link arms to walk back onto the craft.

As soon as we get on, Effie bombards us with questions. "Katniss, Cinna and Portia have collaborated for your dresses ahead of time in anticipation of your possible victory. Do you want Gale to match?"

"Well, I don't think it—" I try, but she cuts me off with another question.

"Gale, do you prefer white meat or red meat? Not that it matters, really; we have both, but is there a certain preference, or would you be alright with any menu?"

"I'm fine with—" Gale begins. Again, Effie interrupts, and I'm kind of taken aback by her blatant disregard of manners. It's so unlike her, I'm almost tempted to ask why, until I remember Haymitch's attitude—totally ignoring this—and decide to ask him later.

"You're right, I'll just send you the menu," Effie nods, rushed. She looks around in a hurry and jumps up from the couch, leaving without excusing herself.

"The hell…?" Gale mutters, aghast. I'm totally surprised, myself. Effie is usually more well mannered than this. Then I guiltily remember what happened to Cinna, and can't help but wonder if they've done something similar to Effie.

When I ask, Haymitch shoots me a look that warns me to not ask too much about the subject. Portia, instead, quietly informs us that they are no longer supplying wigs or clothes and Effie is just slightly stressed out. I turn to Haymitch for further explanation, but by the glance he shoots Portia's way I can tell she's said more than enough. Then I start to think, maybe she's communicating the same way I communicated with Beetee and Wiress in the training center.

No wigs, no clothes. District Eight is the fabric producer, so it's definitely struggling against the Capitol. I quickly look at Haymitch and give him a slight, almost imperceptible nod, to show him that I understood Portia's meaning. Then I turn to Gale and raise my eyebrows, enough for him to see that I need to tell him something.

Finally, after Effie's returned and ran us down our schedules, we're dismissed for a few hours. I grab Gale's elbow and lead him to a small platform outside the hovercraft, where we can just glimpse the top of our woods. We stand looking out at the view for a few seconds before he turns to me urgently.

"Does it have to do with the rebellion?" he bursts out. I look around, panicked, and clamp my hand over his mouth.

"Gale!" I hiss sharply, widening my eyes at him. Then, when I'm sure he won't say anything too revealing, I remove my hand and whisper in a low voice, "Yes, it does. I think it does, at least. It's Eight." His raised eyebrows tell me that he's surprised at the news, which he shouldn't be, really. Already this time last year, that district was having some problems. "I don't know the details yet, but I know that Thirteen…Well, I already told you. Thirteen is planning on sending a small undercover combat unit."

Gale looks out over the railing, musing over this, as if he's trying to figure something out. Finally he turns to me, his jaw set, his mouth in a straight flat line until he speaks out in a soft voice. "What are they planning to do in Eleven?" he asks me, looking me right in the eyes.

My gaze wavers and I stare at the mountains, unsure. "I don't know," I reply just as quietly. "Jackson didn't tell me anything. But something is happening."

"That makes no sense," Gale tells me, confused. He crosses his arms and looks at me as if I'm going to answer all his doubts—which, at the moment, I can't. "If they don't tell you the plan, how will you do it?"

I raise my gaze to meet his, and my eyebrows furrow in concern. "Wait, what makes you think I'll just go along with the plan?"

He shrugs and scratches his chin, which is starting to grow the slightest bit of stubble. I realize that's how a boy's chin is supposed to look around that age, except that all the boys I'd associated with—at least in the arenas—had been so tampered with at the Capitol, they were unable to develop facial hair. I shudder at the thought of what possibly toxic chemicals they might've had on their cheeks and chin. "Well, I think—"

"Gale," I interrupt, exasperated. He can't seriously be expecting me to just go along with whatever macabre plan they've developed, can he? It's not enough that they totally abandoned the rest of the districts; now they're expecting full cooperation on my part? "They _left _us to _die_! I'm not just going to do whatever they tell me to!"

"Well, you did what the Capitol told you to do, didn't you?" he shoots back, and I can tell by the remorseful look on his face immediately afterwards that he realizes what he's said. He tries to apologize, but it's too late. I'm pushing my way past him, back into the hovercraft and away from him. A few minutes later, I hear knocking on my door, and I kick the chair against it, hoping that it'll be enough to send whomever is knocking—probably Gale—away. But the knocking persists.

Annoyed, I walk up to the door and pull it open, fists balled up ready to scream at Gale. But it's not Gale. It's Effie. And she looks absolutely panicked.

"An engine is damaged," she says in a quiet, brittle, shaky voice that I know she only reserves for the most urgent of occasions where being heard in a loud, clear, confident voice is no longer important. "We're going down."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Trust me, I hate myself almost as much as you guys do (probably) for not updating sooner. Be totally honest if you didn't like this chapter, I know I didn't. I want to write in Gale's POV, though, so this is kind of a "Katniss get on with it already" chapter for me. Hopefully you guys won't hold it against me! **

**And as always…**

**Noname: Thank you! And I sure hope so, I doubt you guys have too much patience with my overdue updates unless y'all are really enjoying this story.**

**As always, R&R! **

**-TGBW**


	18. A Good Price to Pay

**Gale**

There's a loud buzzing noise, as if there's a large number of wasps right outside the hovercraft, and the next thing I'm aware of is the plane spiraling down. Effie drags Katniss out of her bedroom, and though I know she's probably still angry at me—and with a good reason, too; what I said was completely uncalled for—she doesn't hesitate in running towards me and hugging me. Unfortunately, this isn't the best time for physical affection.

"Haymitch, how much do you know about engines?" I ask, grabbing away his bottle of whiskey. He sputters indignantly for a second before finally shrugging at me. I roll my eyes, gravely annoyed, and snap, "Well, you're helpful." I look around at the Peacekeepers, who are all just standing around, as if expecting some other hovercraft from the Capitol to fly in and fix the engine.

"You!" I shout, glancing at a Peacekeeper whose badge reads _PC13_, code for being a Peacekeeper from District 3. "You must know _something_ about engineering."

"Well, I—" he begins, but right now there isn't time for insecurity.

"Good," I snap, shoving him into the control room. "Keep the craft tilted to the right, and whatever you do, maintain contact with whoever's in the tower."

He actually salutes me, and I'm trying hard not to smile at this when he's gone. Then I turn around, and look at Effie, Haymitch, Portia and Katniss eyeing me, surprised. "What? I was a chief for a while in the mines." I know how to not lose panic, something that is surprisingly useful in situations like these.

Katniss comes up to me, Haymitch hot on her heels. "They heard us," she hisses angrily. I'm confused as to what exactly she is talking about until I see Haymitch, who's fuming so strongly I can almost feel the smoke coming out of his ears and nostrils.

"Do you think it has something to do with the engine?" I ask incredulously, because honestly I wouldn't have expected something like this.

"It had _everything_ to do with the blasted engine!" Haymitch shouts out, finally exploding. I don't acknowledge his pun. Katniss doesn't take her eyes off of me. "Hell, Snow probably set up the engine _himself_ just for this purpose! When you cut off both wings of a mockingjay, it's supposed to _die_. If you see it still hopping around, you cut off its legs. Simple as that!"

I'm slightly taken aback by his attitude. I've never in my 20 years of life seen the old drunk as angry as he is now. "Sir, with all due respect"—_which is none_, I don't bother to add—"if the Capitol wanted us dead, we'd be dead by now."

"They can't just kill us off," Katniss replies softly. "It would be too obvious. Instead they've planned this horrible—"

"We need oil!" shouts another Peacekeeper, poking his head out of the control room. Effie actually faints into Portia's arms, and Portia rests her on the sofa, fanning her with her hand.

"There should be an extra oil tank in the supply fridge!" I shout back, waving him towards the back of the plane. He looks at me, puzzled, as if he's not sure he heard me right. I don't blame him. I doubt they tell anyone about the extra oil tanks, since it's highly unlikely for Capitol aircraft to go down so unexpectedly. "_Trust me_! They keep it in there! Check the damn freezer!"

The Peacekeeper nods, looking more confident than before, and runs into the back room for the oil tank. I turn to Katniss, who's looking at me somewhat quizzically.

"How do you _know_ all this stuff?" she demands, confused.

"I read up on military technology," I admit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. She nods, but I can tell she's still somewhat in disbelief. I'm about to add something—an explanation, maybe, as to why I'm so interested in all this—when something stops us in our tracks. In a good way.

"It's fixed!" calls the Peacekeeper from inside the control room. There is a collective sigh of relief around the hovercraft and we all visibly relax back into our carefree positions. Then I realize that if the Capitol had, in fact, been looking to destroy our entire ship, that a large number of the Peacekeepers would've gone down with us.

_A good price to pay, for the end of the mockingjay,_ I think guiltily, gulping down the phrase before it makes an audible exit.

I shrug my hunting jacket back on, but a woman named Portia, and some guy with bright orange hair and dark purple lipstick, stop me. "You won't be wearing that in Eleven," the guy says perkily, as if our near death experience just now never even occurred.

"Flavius has your outfit planned out," Portia explains, leading me into a small room with mirrors on each wall, and shelves decorating them. Numerous bottles are on display, some as large as my head and others as small as my thumb, all different shapes and colors. On one side of the room is a large, silver sink, with differently sized bars of soap and sponges. I realize it's not a sink at all, but a bathtub. It's so unlike anything in Twelve that for a second I'm unsure of whether or not it's for human use.

"Oh, just jump in!" gushes Flavius, snapping on a pair of medical gloves. He straps on a white paper mask that covers the bottom half of his face, and pulls on some sort of lab coat not unlike the one Dr. Aurelius wore when he went to check up on Katniss. "The right knob is for cold water, and the left knob is for hot water. It stuns me, really, that they even make right knobs anymore. Nobody _I_ know bathes with cold water. Doesn't treat the skin well, you know. Also horrible. It's the opposite of a sauna. I hear that cold actually makes you get fatter. Oh," he adds with a chuckle, "who would want _that_, huh?" He goes on about the empty subject, and I'm awestruck at how Capitol citizens can blabber on about nothing at all.

I gingerly step into the tub and open the faucet, letting hot water stream onto my legs. It's certainly different than the baths we take in Twelve, and feels infinitely better than the biting cold outside. I sink in, lean my head back, close my eyes. It's really no wonder how some citizens in the Capitol have nothing, really, to complain about. Never a shortage of food, hot water on demand, instead of having to boil it an hour in advance. My hands rest on either side of me, and I must press a button accidentally because next thing I know, there's bubbles shooting from the sides of the tub.

"Aah!" I yell out, surprised. My hands rush to cover the little vents from which the water is shooting out, but they are pushed away, repelled even, by the force. I hear a laugh from across the room, and Flavius strides towards me, the corners of his eyes crinkled up in a smile I can't see.

"I see you've found the Jacuzzi button," he points out, reaching over to press a button a few feet above me. The bubbles stop instantly, and a pink tint starts to spread over the tub. Suddenly the water begins to condense.

"Flavius," I stutter, "what—what is this?"

He sighs and hands me a thick, yellow sponge. "Instantaneous bath gel." Then, under his breath, he mutters, "You'd swear these people still live in caves."

I'm about to point out that they're not caves—they're mines, actually—when I'm stopped by something. A small, shiny black sphere, in the corner of the room. There's an almost imperceptible small red light beeping in the center, and I suddenly get the feeling that we're being watched on this hovercraft.

Wordlessly, I sink into the bath gel, no longer willing to fight back. _There'll be enough opportunities of that once we're in Eleven,_ I think. _Then we'll see who's watching who._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Woo, that was a fast update! Kind of regretting it, because it probably means less reviews for Chapter 17—unless you feel like being nice and reviewing both? (insert ****smiley face here)**

**noname: 1) I totally agree! 2) Well, here's your answer! 3) Aww, thank you! 4) You know, I'm not sure. I would totally love to try (you know, if I was good at that type of stuff…) 5) Ooh okay, well that makes sense and I'll try to do it more often.**

**I'll update only on weekends from now on, unless it's a super special occasion, but I'll usually update twice at a time. **

**Back to noname: I get it, I always say love too (and now that I think about it, I'm really hoping nobody thinks I'm being a stalker either!) Like here, when I say I love you and all my reviewers ;D **

**And for your PS: YES, I did, I loved it! I added it to Story Alert :D **

**Stay tuned for some update either this weekend **_**or**_** next weekend! **

**Love you all! **

**-TGBW**


	19. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ugh, I HATE it when other people do this—write a chapter entirely out of an author's note. But I am literally in between fanfics (**_**The Waves Creep Up on the Shore**_** and **_**Facing the Ashes**_**) and I really need to finish one first to focus on the other one.**

**Since I know most people (or at least, I) always ignore polls on profiles, I decided to post here. Don't review for this unless you're anonymous, send me a private message telling me which one I should finish **_**first**_**. (That's not to say I won't work on both, I just won't update as often for one than the other.) **

**Thank you for your input, and I PROMISE that the next chapter won't be crappy like this one. After a few people have PM'd me, I'll have the results and will post on my profile which one will be done first. Thanks again!**


	20. Ready or Not

**Katniss**

It's several hours until I start to see the familiar sights of vast wheat fields, with numerous watchtowers stationed at an even distance from each other, maintaining visual contact with each and every worker. I suddenly remember what Rue told me, about her whistle signaling the end of the workday, and I wonder if someone has taken over that job. Thinking back to the little uprising last year, with the old man getting shot for whistling, I get the sense that nobody's been too eager to replace her.

Gale's and my outfits for the day aren't anything too extravagant, something I take as a sign to lay as low as possible on the Peacekeepers' radars for this trip. My dress is a lovely pale yellow that brings out small bronze strips of my hair—sunburnt, is what Octavia tells me—with thin straps and a smooth, puffy skirt. There's a sash around my waist, tucking in the dress to add some extra curves. Portia ignores my complaints about this as she goes and brings Gale out from the other room.

If I'd found him handsome before, in the woods with the sun glistening on his hair or as he said goodbye to me for my first games, then there are no words to describe how he looks. His hair, rather than being slicked back as Peeta's was for every public showing, was tousled and messy, leaving his natural woodsy look about him. His outfit consists of a white suit, a gray shirt and a tie that matches my dress perfectly.

"The idea," whispers Portia as Venia works hastily to comb through my hair, which Flavius then intends to curl, "is for you two to look sweet. Not a couple, but two cousins raised in a small, poor district, who still can't believe the grandeur of this situation."

"So, gushing," I say flatly. I thought Haymitch and I had previously established that I couldn't gush. At all. I wince in pain as the curler accidentally touches my cheek, which Flavius responds to by flicking my ear and reminding me not to move.

Portia shakes her head, then quickly steps back to examine me. "No, not gushing. You're mourning, but awestruck."

"Sweetie, _stop_ with the _moving_!" Flavius exhales finally, totally exasperated. He throws up one hand in the air dramatically, before tucking a strand of my hair around the iron.

I nod, as if absorbing his instructions; really, I'm trying to piece together Portia's comment. The stress of knowing I have to mourn Peeta, somehow pull together a plausible miscarriage story, all the while anticipating at any moment a rebel break-in into the district, is too much to bear. Add that to the fact that Snow's finger is probably lingering over some large red button programmed to make me explode, and I'm practically in tears by the time they're through with me.

Gale is standing in front of the mirror, trying to figure out his tie—we don't typically dress men up in ties in 12, seeing as 8 never bothers importing to such a poor district—when I walk over and straighten it out for him. Whenever there would be a major event, Madge would always invite me to her house beforehand so we could do what I was so desperately bad at: dress up. She was in charge of fixing her father's ties, as he was hopeless at it and her mother couldn't stand for long. After a while, she taught me to do it too, with all the times I watched her do it.

"You look handsome," I say, resting my hands on his broad shoulders. It's not a lie, either. I can see some stubble on his chin and cheeks, and automatically wonder what made the prep team not get rid of it. Still, I'm secretly ecstatic that he hasn't had a full body polish. At least one of us has more scars outside than inside.

He snorts, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. The way he looks in the mirror, with eyes full of anguish and disappointment, makes me feel so guilty inside for having forced him to come with me.

My mouth opens finally, and I come up with what I think are the right words to say. "Gale, you don't have to do—"

He shakes his head before I'm able to finish, and finally breaks his gaze away and looks down at me. "No, I…I want to. I want to see how things are, here," he tells me, but still tugs at his collar self-consciously. I'm sure he wasn't expecting to look Capitol-made. Now he's probably trying to take back his words to Madge about her beautiful white dress for the reaping two years ago.

I press my lips together and narrow my eyes, examining his face. Maybe it's because I'm usually not this close to him, or maybe because it's actually occurred, but he looks so much older than before, with worry lines permanently dug between his eyebrows, over on his forehead. The small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are often referred to as smile wrinkles, can only be described as melancholy. In a risky motion, I let my hand caress his cheek, comfortably feeling his rough skin under my perfected hand. "Surprise," I whisper. I can tell he doesn't fully process what I mean, or even what I say. Not that it matters, because Effie and Haymitch arrive just then.

"Alright, everybody," Effie squeaks, pulling on her glasses and checking the omnipresent clipboard once more. "Let's go over our entrance one more time, shall we? As always, Flavius, Octavia, and Venia"—this she says with pointed glances at each one of them—"shall go out first. Then it'll be—"

"Me," Portia volunteers, but she looks more eager to be done with this review than to be contributing.

Effie nods and points at Haymitch with her pen, connecting herself to him in a back and forth motion. "Then you and I will exit, and Gale will escort Katniss of course."

"We'll leave at the same—?" I begin.

"Escort?" Gale asks at the same time.

"Yes, now hush!" Effie sniffs, putting away her glasses. She narrows her eyes at us, taking in our impeccable makeup, our clothes, and then she waves at the prep team, signaling for them to go forth.

"One, two, three, four…" she counts under her breath, all the way to fifteen. Gale readies himself by taking a deep breath and taking my hand. I glare at this movement, not too obviously but enough so that he realizes what he's done. Cousins don't do that type of thing, especially not when one of them has just lost her husband and the supposed father of her supposed baby.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly, instead linking my arm in his. "Habit." I glance at him questioningly—habit? Since when has it ever been a habit for Gale to take a girl's hand?

We stand side by side, waiting for the rest of the group to move out. Just before our fifteen seconds are up, after Effie and Haymitch have gone out, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, just as quickly as our first time in the woods. "You ready?" he asks me, studying my face.

I gulp anxiously—_no, I'm not ready_—and manage to stammer out, "I don't think it matters." Then the fifteen seconds are up, and we're walking out into the blinding lights of the town square.

It takes me only a second to see the hovercraft waiting outside.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Aah, a cliffhanger! Don't kill me please! Anyways thank you all so much for reviewing and for giving me your votes and opinions about which fanfiction I should finish first. I am so, so sorry to say that IT IS A TIE. I was completely awestruck when I realized this! For better or worse, I will be updating equally for both stories! **

**Now for the sad news. I won't be updating as often because this week is review week, and the week after that is exam week. Then I'll be going to a summer camp (Georgetown, anyone?) for a month so, unless they have free wi-fi (which I am just **_**praying**_** that they do), I'll only be writing. But don't worry, I'll try to update as soon as possible! Thank you, and I love you all!**

**-TGBW**


	21. Unexpected Alliances

**Gale**

Strong, gloved hands clamp over my mouth, muffling my embarrassingly loud scream as a fist makes contact with my gut. I'm knocked over on my knees, my eyes bulging to try and take in my surrounding. It's definitely a Capitol hovercraft, there's evidence all around. If the Peacekeeper uniforms didn't give it away, the seal on every flat surface sure as hell did. Even the painted-on version of the seal makes me want to break something apart.

My eyes dart around, searching for Katniss urgently, to make sure she's okay. Instead I'm suddenly blindfolded, and a sharp pain takes over my left arm. A strange calm floods in through my veins, as I accept this as reality and lose my bearings, as well as my strength to struggle. My last sane thought is that at least Katniss looked pretty.

It's a while before I'm brought out of the very realistic nightmares that took over my supposedly peaceful slumber. I can't tell exactly how long I've been out, but by the look of the skies outside the window, I could say it's been a few hours. The colors are turning from blue to orange, signaling that evening is near. Suddenly, my mind clicks the pieces together, and I sit up, just before a pain shoots through my arm again. I look down and see the syringe poking out of my skin.

_Morphling drip,_ I think with a shake of my head in disbelief, eyeing the bag with the thick, familiar liquid. _Sure, why not?_ As if I'm still in the haze, I look around slowly, trying to find something—anything—even remotely familiar. I let out a huge sigh when my eyes finally rest on Katniss's face, looking so peaceful under the effects of the morphling. It brings me back to her last panic attack, and the way she seemed to relax under the effect of the drug. But then I remember all the warnings about morphling overdose, and addiction, and I rip out the syringe from my arm, preparing to do the same for her.

A Peacekeeper stops me all of a sudden, and I remember the reason why we are on this hovercraft. I shove him away, punching his abdomen for good measure, before zooming in on the girl, the young woman really. With a touch as light as feathers, I let my fingertips graze over her cheek, down her arm. Her eyelids fluttering are the only signal that she isn't, in fact, dead. Even her chest rising and falling isn't noticeable. Then my hand reaches the IV, and I remember what I'm on this side of the room for. My fingers have just closed over the tube when someone yells for me to stop.

"Gale! What the hell are you doing?" Haymitch demands, bursting through the room in a drunken stupor as always. The stench of alcohol on his breath is so intoxicating that I unexpectedly lean against the bedrail. "Don't touch her until she wakes up by herself, you dumbass!"

My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I try to understand what is happening. Why is Haymitch giving me instructions that could potentially benefit whatever these new Capitol goons are planning? "What does it look like I'm doing, you sour old drunk!" I slur, still partially under morphling effect. "I'm saving Katniss! And right now I've got half a mind to not do you the same favor!"

"Sit down!" orders Haymitch. I still struggle against his instructions, until a deeper, more authoritative voice echoes it right behind me.

The man whose voice called out is of medium-height, the same age as my mother probably, with gray, shortly cropped hair, and a roughened scar down his cheek. He is walking on a cane, wincing slightly as he makes his way across the room to me. "You, sir," he says reverently, extending his free arm to shake my hand, "must be Gale Hawthorne."

I jut my chin out defiantly, uncertain as to whether or not trust him. Obviously Haymitch trusts him, but given his state of mind I wouldn't use that as solid grounds to do so myself. Besides, he's—no, I'm wrong. He's not wearing a Peacekeeper uniform. Now that I think about it, as I look around, nobody seems to be wearing the uniforms.

I eye his hand warily before deciding to just shake it. "Yes, that's me," I answer nonchalantly, trying to keep the forced evenness in my voice. "And you must be…?"

"Boggs," he replies, much to my surprise. So _that's_ Boggs, the soldier from Thir—"Commander Samuel Boggs, of District Thirteen. Now, I am sure you must have tons of questions regarding your present state on this aircraft, but first of all you should know that your family," he pauses and looks over at Katniss, "and the Everdeens have been sent for by one of our other hovercrafts, and they are expecting them shortly back in the district."

I'd had no idea until now that my family and Katniss's family would be in any sort of danger back home. Now, however, my deepest fears have solidified, and I can't help but feel that this is partially my fault, for having agreed to leave them behind. I should've stayed with them! Or, at the very least, brought them along with me. "Will they be okay? Why are they being transferred, is that some sort of preventive protocol or is it direct action being taken against another threat?"

"I think—" Boggs begins, but is soon interrupted by a loud beeping noise coming from Katniss's side of the room. We both whip our head around instinctively, only to see it is coming from a machine hooked by her bed. She is probably beginning to awaken.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," says a familiar voice, striding over to her and pressing a few buttons on the machine. I'm trying to figure out who it is, when I see the spiked hair. Like he just underwent electric shocks.

"Dr. Aurelius," I growl, not even bothering to hide the thick venom coat in my voice. I turn to Boggs, incredibly confused. "What's _he_ doing here? He's nothing but a Capitol slave, a _doctor_!"

Boggs looks at me calmly, as if I'm not screaming or raising my voice at all. He takes a seat at the edge of my bed, resting both of his hands atop his cane as Dr. Aurelius nonchalantly tests Katniss's pulse. "This might be a good time to tell you that Dr. Aurelius was an undercover rebel doctor working in the Capitol. He worked to save the lives of prisoners that had to undergo severe pain and torture, and even helped develop a special, undetectable anesthetic for the more serious torture."

_Morphling,_ I think to myself. I'd learned in school a few years back that morphling was practically undetectable if you were tested for it. The effects, however, were more noticeable if you were under the influence of the drug. Then I glanced at Katniss, and took in the raw skin around her ankles, the paled flesh from being covered up for a few weeks. "Then why did you put the tracking device on her?" I demand, trying to find a flaw in this explanation. Surely Dr. Aurelius couldn't be trusted!

"How else would we know when to give you a lift from Eleven?" asks Boggs, and he looks at Dr. Aurelius and joins him in a hearty chuckle. My cheeks burn in embarrassment, as if this plan had been so obvious all along.

Suddenly, there's an impact on the left side of the hovercraft. Well, impact is probably too light of a word to describe the nerve-racking sensation sending shockwaves through the plane. Boggs tilts his head towards the cane, which is just when I notice some sort of electronic contraption on his wrist. He looks up, out of the window—where smoke is clouding everything in our line of sight—and mutters something under his breath. Then he turns to me.

"Gale, you're pretty good with firearms and hovercraft technology, right?" he asks, and maybe it's just the rumbling of the plane but I get the feeling that he's as nervous as I am.

I can only nod and hope it's the right answer. It must be, by the way he immediately walks over and yanks me up from my seat. "Then we'd better get ready to fight fire with fire."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: YES, I finally finally finally updated! I'm so sorry for keeping y'all waiting for SOOO long! Thank you guys all so, so very much for your amazing reviews. I literally blush every time I read them! On Tuesday is my last exam, then I'll be all yours (; I love you all, and keep up the reading! **

**-TGBW**

**P.S. Sorry for the long chapter, eat a potato in my honor. **


	22. Back in Action

**Katniss**

"Just…unplug it, or something!"

"I'm afraid we're not authorized for that kind of medical tampering, sir."

"Who gives a damn about authority? I don't see a Capitol permit anywhere on this hovercraft!"

The voices are becoming clearer and clearer as the bickering continues. I try my hardest not to move, lest they'll stop talking and leave me ignorant of whatever is going on right now. One voice, slightly slurred and raspy, could only belong to Haymitch. The second, measured and feminine, I've no clue as to who it could be.

"She's our best shot!" Haymitch pleads in a lower voice. Did I stir too visibly? Do they know I'm conscious? Oh, who cares! I'll have to wakeup soon anyways.

I let one eye open slightly, desperate to regain my bearings. My last memory is a foggy vision of a Peacekeeper knocking me out in District 11. After that, everything seemed to black out. Now I'm lying on some sort of table, and by the feel of it I am no longer clad in the beautiful dress that Cinna and Portia had collaborated on. Instead, I'm wearing a paper hospital gown. Forgetting that I'm not supposed to move, I raise one hand lazily, glancing down at my wrist. A long tube snakes out from my vein to an IV drip on the side of the bed-table-thing. The clear liquid contained inside the plastic bag immediately matches up with the term _morphling_ in my mind, and suddenly there's nothing I'd like more than to just yank it out. Then I realize, that's probably what Haymitch is talking about.

"Miss Everdeen, how are you feeling?" asks the feminine voice, coming from a young woman wearing nurse's clothing. The name _Qaz_ is printed on her nametag above her heart, and a cap with a blue cross and a badge I'm not able to recognize sits atop her brown curls. She glances down at a clipboard I hadn't noticed before, then adjusts her glasses and looks at me. After quickly jotting something down, she carefully unhooks the drip.

"Terrible," I answer honestly. It's not so much the side effects of the sedative that are making me feel this way, but the fact that I'm currently on a hovercraft that seems to be doing somersaults in midair isn't exactly helping. I try to sit up, but am promptly stopped when Nurse Qaz puts her hand gently on my collarbone, guiding me back down. "What's going on?"

"I am sure Mr. Abernathy will be able to explain better than me," she tells me, then hands me a cup of water from a nearby table. "Tell me, Miss Everdeen, do you feel any nausea, headaches, stomach pains, or blurred vision?"

I shake my head, but wince immediately, as I am, in fact, suffering from a strong headache. She sees that somehow in my expression and purses her lips, writing something else down on her clipboard. I look around the room and see I'm closed off behind a curtain, with no windows or doors near me. "Can I talk to Haymitch?" I ask, trying to fight off the sudden drowsiness threatening to overcome me.

My voice is slurred, but she understands what I try to say. She nods and backs away to the curtain, pulling it to the side. "I'll be in the other room running some tests, and I'll be back here in a few minutes," she informs me, walking out the other door.

Behind the drawn back curtain, Haymitch has been sitting glumly on a small plastic chair, waving his hand back and forth as the honey-like drink inside his cup sloshes from side to side. When he sees me, he springs up from the chair in excitement, not even bothering to wipe up the spilt whiskey. "Katniss, you're awake!" he says in lieu of a greeting. He rushes to my side, putting his hand to my forehead as if I've got a fever.

"Haymitch, what's—" I try to ask, but he interrupts me immediately.

"We're on a rebel hovercraft that is currently under attack from Capitol counterattacks," he tells me urgently, in a hushed voice. "Gale and Dolf, a trained rebel from 3, are currently manning the aircraft. We've got six rebel snipers on the roof, trying to fend off the attackers, but they have not been trained well enough for flying targets. I know you're probably the most prepared in such a scenario, but the dopes in charge won't let you up without your consent, which is kind of hard to get when you're knocked out, sweetheart!"

I scowl—as if it's _my_ fault they sent me into a morphling-induced sleep!—and for the first time notice the loud sounds going on above us. I try to sit up, which is considerably difficult when I've got no back support. "Okay, I'll do it. But I'm not going to wear this!"

Ten minutes later, Haymitch finally gets permission from Nurse Qaz to release me from the hospital wing of the plane. We rush through the paperwork, with me having to sign countless papers that basically all claim that I'm fine and willing to enter combat. Haymitch and I pass Commander Boggs on the way up, but I barely have any time to soak in the fact that he was, just a few days ago, a wounded soldier in the cottage in the woods.

We find a supply closet, which is filled with soldier uniforms, bulletproof vests, and weapons. I slip into a drab gray jumpsuit and lace up knee-high combat boots as Haymitch holds up different types of bows for me to inspect. They are all designed for bulky, large male soldiers with bad hand-eye coordination, so I'm about to give up hope of ever finding one suitable for me…until we come across a beautifully made, simple longbow, designed with slightly more curviness than the ones my father would make back in 12. I hold it in both my hands, examining its smooth wood, its string. It's shorter than traditional longbows, but suitable for me since I'm shorter than traditional archers anyways.

"This one," I say, beaming at Haymitch. "This one's perfect."

We spend another five minutes gathering enough ammunition. The arrows have different shapes and sizes, some made for shooting down and some made for rocketing upwards. I grab half a dozen simple arrows, geared more towards long-distance shooting, but I see Haymitch had something else in mind.

"Thirteen has been preparing for this sort of attack," he explains, holding out another six arrows, all of these tipped with highly flammable material instead of the usual spikes. "These will set virtually anything on fire."

"Okay," I nod, and run up to the ladder in the main cabin.

"Katniss, wait!" he calls after me, just as I'm about to push open the emergency exit leading to the roof. I lean over, wondering what on earth could be so important, when he smirks and adds, "Stay alive."

I roll my eyes at our little joke, before exiting. I can immediately tell it's bad.

There must be approximately five Capitol crafts surrounding our rebel vehicle, and none of them seem to have any purpose other than to take ours down. A rebel soldier standing to my right looks over at me and smiles. "Good to see you up and about, Everdeen!" He quickly turns and shoots at a hovercraft that had been swooping down on me, without me even noticing it. I see that all the snipers are holding either machine guns or complex compound bows, neither of which help with their failing accuracy on the moving surface.

First I start off with the normal arrows, aiming at the most vulnerable parts of the counterattacking aircraft. Gale once told me, while we were out hunting and a Capitol hovercraft flew above us, that the large fans underneath were what kept them in the air, and that if anything—even a small rock—got caught inside, the hovercraft wouldn't last long before it either went down or, if the rock was lodged deep enough, became engulfed in flames. So I aim in between the large steel flaps spinning so fast that I can barely shoot an arrow without it being deflected and sticking itself sturdily on the roof of the craft below it.

Thankfully, the other soldiers catch on to my plan, and soon enough all of us are aiming for the bottom fans on the attacking planes. One soldier actually manages to get a bullet stuck inside the fan, causing it to spiral downwards. However, our victory is short-lived, as I run out of normal arrows and can't very well use the flammable ones for fear of them being deflected and setting our craft on fire.

"Hey, you!" I call over to another soldier. He turns his attention to me, so I try to make it fast before a Capitol pilot sees his opening and fires at him. "What's the most flammable part of a hovercraft?"

His eyes drift from me to the quiver slung over my shoulders, and his mouth opens in understanding. "Just aim for the wings, they're the most vulnerable, especially in military crafts!" he shouts back, before shooting up at a wing himself to prove his point. A second hovercraft falls to the left as the wing bends over from the bullet, and I'm amazed at how engineers haven't worked to improve that flaw.

Somewhere in the control room downstairs, a switch is hit, because we are speeding now towards northeastern Panem. The Capitol hovercrafts are left trailing behind. I'm sure if they wanted to, they could probably chase us, but have decided to stay back and assess damage.

I wonder how many of them will be alive after Snow's through punishing them.

Two soldiers help me down into the cabin, probably worried that I'm still suffering through migraines—which I kind of am—and Gale, who's found a replacement in the control room, receives me in his arms. I am panting, out of breath, with arms too sore to function—I've never shot that quickly at anything before—and I'm pretty sure my face must be some shade of violet.

Still, Gale manages to say, "You know, Catnip, out of breath is a good look for you."

"Oh, shut up Hawthorne," I tell him jokingly, rolling my eyes.

"Good job, Miss Everdeen," says Boggs, smiling at me. Haymitch stands behind him, giving me two thumbs up. Boggs leans his head over some sort of contraption fastened onto his wrist, and he heaves a sigh of relief. "We're just a few minutes away from Thirteen. You can all relax now."

Gale, despite my protests and my acclamations that I can, in fact, walk on my own two feet, carries me to a small lounge with several sofas occupied by tired soldiers chatting over small portions of bread. My stomach growls as I realize I'm starving. Gale notices and stops by the counter to snatch a few pieces of bread before finally setting me down on a sofa. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying me.

"What?" I ask self-consciously, my hands automatically reaching for my braid—only to remember my hair's been curled by Flavius.

He smiles at me, but doesn't blink or stop looking at me. Finally he says, "You look beautiful, Miss Everdeen."

I have the decency to drop my gaze, blushing ever so slightly. At least, I hope it's not too noticeable. My cheeks feel like they're burning. "Thank you," I mutter, embarrassed and flattered, and angry too because I can't think of a better response.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sick of cliffhangers! This time I'm letting you guys off easy, especially because this is by far the longest chapter I've written—to make up for my tardiness. Again, thanks a ton to all my reviewers, I love you all (but you know that)! **

**Now, to my anon: **

**noname: I know, right? I was swamped with exams, but thankfully I did well on both of them! (I think?) Anyways, thank you! And yes, the whole yanking the morphling thing was a little stunt on my part (because so far I've been practically depicting him as some sort of flawless human being when in reality he can get pretty reckless). OH MY GOD you actually had a potato for me! (Okay, potato, potato salad, same difference). That made my day! **

**I'll update as soon as possible now that I am on vacation! *what what***

**-TGBW**


	23. Alma Coin

**Gale**

Immediately after landing, Katniss, her crew and I are 'escorted' by armed officials from District 13. Being inside the district is a huge surprise, seeing as everything I'd been hearing and/or suspecting about the rebellion and this fallen district are finally confirmed. Though the surface is left in ashes, with ancient rubble covering most of the dry, cold terrain, the underground sectors of 13 are actually quite impressive. It's a pristine, organized, marble version of our mines back in 12. Instead of the carts I'm used to, though, we walk everywhere, seeing as in 13 they don't have sufficient technology to be able to develop advanced transportation methods that would work under sea levels. There are complex tunnels, as well as countless elevators that even move sideways, orchestrated in such a way that you are almost sure to never land in the same corridor twice on the same day.

"Level 3, sector A," mutters one of the soldiers under her breath, gesturing almost imperceptibly down one hallway. I get the faintest feeling that she was trying to give us a tour, but due to her quiet voice and her lack of eye contact, it's hard to tell. As she points out other rooms and hallways, I make it a point to try to catch Katniss's eye.

I feel like, after she came back into the hovercraft when she was finished with her shooting, there was a moment when I was finally able to break through the nutshell and access her. Of course, she was practically nonresponsive at that point, probably because she'd been so worn out by all the shooting. After we made the rest of the trip into the district, she all but ignored me.

Even now, as we make our way to God knows where, she refuses to look at me. The soldiers finally lead us down one last hallway which is almost a dead end, with no other connected corridors or doors on the walls, except for the one at the end of the corridor. The officer steps in front of some strange machine connected to the wall, which then lets out an acid green light that scans her eyeball. The second soldier mutters something about a new identification technology now that some Capitol spies have been known to infiltrate the headquarters.

Finally, the two heavy doors slide open, and the sight inside seems almost as out of place in the tunnels as the tunnels seem in the district. I's a large room with a long, rectangular table in the center, some chairs set around it, and a large panel above the head seat—on which sits an aged woman in a light gray pantsuit. Of course, the only thing betraying her age is her shoulder-length gray hair, which isn't streaked with a shade lighter or a shade darker than the rest of her hair—the same color as her suit. Her face is almost completely smooth, except for some telltale wrinkles around her mouth, as well as above her eyes and in between her eyebrows, as if she scowled quite often. Her wrinkly hands, with long, thin fingers intertwined with each other, rest before her, and her eyes are downcast upon them.

"That will be all," says a stone-cold, low voice with an odd feminine touch. It takes me half a second to realize that the voice was coming from the woman at the table, who finally looks up, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. The corners of her mouth twitch up every other second, as if she can't make up her mind as to whether or not smile properly. "Thank you, Paylor and Wiles. I'll be meeting with you both shortly; you know your position." They both walk outside the office, and the door slides shut again. As I look around, I find that only Haymitch, Katniss, Effie and I are standing in the office.

"Please. Take a seat," she tells us. By the way she says it out loud, it's almost a distinct order, rather than a request, for us to sit down. Effie, who is looking slightly out of it, is guided down to a chair by Haymitch, steering her shoulders. Katniss and I finally exchange confused glances and she sits down across the table from the woman. I sit to Katniss's left.

The woman leans forward, looking at each one of us intently. "I will begin by introducing myself. I am Alma Coin, current leader of the rebellion as well as newly elected mayor of District 13. I would like to—"

"Wait, _mayor_?" asks Katniss irritably, confused. I don't bother shrugging or looking over at her, since she's just voiced the same exact thought I was having just now. "I'm sorry, I had no idea 13 was still being recognized by the Capitol."

Something about the way she mentioned that gave me the impression that she meant it to be accusing; however it just came out as though she really did have no idea what was going on. Alma Coin merely curls her lips up in a hideous attempt at a smirk, as her wrinkles deepen slightly. "As you may or may not be aware, Miss Everdeen—"

"_Stop_," interrupts Katniss, frustrated and putting her hands up to her face, "_calling _me that! It's not _Miss_ Everdeen, it's _Katniss_ Everdeen—and to you? We're not on first-name terms, so it's just _Everdeen._" I suppressed a grin; of course Katniss would take offense to being mistaken with some lady-like being. I just wonder what took her so long.

Finally, Alma Coin shows some sign of emotion, as her lips quirk into a frown. "As you may or may not be aware, _Everdeen_," she sneers, "as far as the Capitol, and the remaining districts, are concerned, yes, District 13 is still being recognized. Although the fact that a government is being maintained here is unbeknownst to many, the Capitol knows it—President Snow certainly knows it."

"Ironic, isn't it," Haymitch breaks in, looking bored, "how one of—pardon my bluntness, Alma—"

"No need, Haymitch," the woman responds dismissively.

"—Snow's possible _lapdogs_ turns out to be planning his demise."

Coin lets out a shrill, cold laugh, so thick with sarcasm that it's hard to tell whether or not she's actually offended by the remark. "Certainly, _President_ Snow is fully conscious that we are active in the rebellion. If the signs haven't been clear enough, the breakout in Eleven will bring him to his senses."

"What use is it for them to know it's you—I mean, us?" I ask brusquely, because really it's much harder to plot an entire government's downfall—not to mention a very totalitarian government—while they know one is planning against them. "I heard from Paylor, err, Wiles, uh, one of them, that spies had already breached the perimeter. It's possible that, even now, they are listening to our conversation."

Something clicks in Coin's mind when I say my bit, and her eyebrows furrow together, sharpening her glare. She presses a button on the desktop that I hadn't noticed before, and an elegant, curved silver stick pops out, with a black tip. She leans over it and mutters, "Stone, Ottoman, inside the main office _now_. Code eight. _Now_!"

Almost immediately—and it's nearly comical how quickly they appear—two tall, muscular soldiers walk through the heavy sliding doors, each one armed with machine guns. One scans the tabletop as the other one walks the perimeter of the room, possibly searching for hidden cameras. Fortunately—in light of the fact that we'd been speaking freely about District 13 up until now—they find nothing, and go out as quickly as they came in.

Coin finally returns to her bland smirk as she turns to look at me. "For starters, we are offering an almost impossible target. Thirteen is so well-hidden underground that it is nearly ludicrous for the Capitol to be able to attack us. The only way we could possibly receive an incoming strike would be if they sunk as low—as despicably, loathsomely low—as to using their nuclear weapons, in which case a counterattack from our behalf is completely guaranteed. That is, if we discard the advantage of steering their attention away from the struggling districts. Because we are so hard to attack, they will most likely spend their time trying to do just that, and leaving our fellow citizens alone. So," she concludes in regards to my question, "it is good that they know it is us. Very, very useful."

"Who gives a damn about waiting for them to attack us?" I roar impatiently, getting up on my feet. A stunned Katniss turns to look up at me in awe, eyes wide. I don't know why; it's not the first time she's seen me raving against the Capitol. "Why don't we attack them, and get this whole deal over with?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," growls a deep voice with a laugh. I turn around swiftly, just in time to witness the large doors slide together behind Commander Boggs. He walks over around the table and stands behind Coin, slightly to her right. "You know, our same logic was applied hundreds of years ago. It was developed into something called Mutually Assured Destruction. You see, just as we would counterattack their bombing, they would counterattack ours. What would be left but more rubble, and no people to rebuild it?"

"Rebuild _WHAT_?" shrieks Effie, finally coming to. I'd almost forgotten she was in this office. "I JUST GOT CATERED AWAY FROM A _VERY_ IMPORTANT AFFAIR OF MINE, I AM _WAY_ BEHIND SCHEDULE, AND I WOULD JUST LIKE TO KNOW WHAT THE HE…WHAT THE HE…WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE CAPITOL IS GOING ON!"

Katniss winces at Effie's shrill, squeaky voice. Haymitch simply rolls his eyes, as if all this time he's been counting down the minutes until she cracks, and Coin remains practically stoical. "Samuel," she says smoothly, "perhaps you could get Miss Trinket a glass of sedahol?"

I raise my eyebrow at the term. Thankfully, I'm not the only one completely in the dark as to the meaning of sedahol. Katniss also looks skeptical, and Haymitch…well, frankly he looks like he could use a glass of anything as long as it contains alcohol. Still, Boggs seem to know what she was talking about, and so he steps once again outside the office. Meanwhile, Effie is still going on, screaming—ironic, really, that she is demanding an explanation but not shutting up long enough to receive one.

After what seems like hours, Boggs returns with a small glass filled with some weird, clear, bluish liquid that he sets in front of Effie. Still looking suspicious, Effie takes it and takes a sip. In a matter of seconds, she is totally unconscious.

"What did you give her?" demands Haymitch, sitting up immediately. "Poison? Are you poisoning everybody with a Capitol pedigree, Alma?"

Coin smiles sweetly at Haymitch, but only offers this as an answer, "Sedahol is a lab-created combination of alcohol and sedatives; the alcohol masks the sedatives, and the sedatives…well…" She waves her hand towards Effie as a form of conclusion. "Now, Haymitch, I would much appreciate it if you'd help Boggs escort the escort off to her correspondent compartment. Thank you." Haymitch grumbles, but still gets up and helps Boggs take her out. Coin sighs and looks back down at her hands, taking a deep breath.

"Onto more pressing matters," she breathes, lifting her gaze towards Katniss and I, "you should know that Twelve, Eleven, Eight, Four, and Three are currently under rebel command. This means no food is being imported to the Capitol, or to any of the resisting districts; nor is anything being produced or invented by engineers. Of course, we cannot yet vouch for weapons, as we—that is to say, Thirteen—are no longer in charge of manufacturing their nuclear warfare. They have moved that center, as well as their central Peacekeeper forces, to District 2.

"Our priorities right now are to tackle Districts 5 and 6—halting transportation and communication—and District 2, for obvious reasons. But," she adds, staring at us intently, "we cannot do this alone. This is where you come in.

"Everdeen, you are widely known, as I'm sure you're aware, of your stanza in this entire matter. Tribute, lover, victor—_twice_—surviving against all odds. You have become, as proven time and time again, the symbol of the rebellion. The mockingjay, symbolically speaking. But you cannot tell a mockingjay from an ordinary bird until you hear her song."

"A speech?" Katniss asks, and I can almost see her turning a sickly shade of pale green. She gets queasy easily when asked to go public; even as a victor on the first tour, as well as the countless interviews before and since, it has been obvious that she is no public speaker.

"Oh, no," Coin laughs, waving the suggestion off with one hand. "We are beyond speeches at this point. No, I am afraid that the only advancement will be made through action. Now, it will not, by any means, be necessary for you to actually engage in combat. We just need you to appear to be fighting on the rebel side, to say just a few encouraging words. Your mentor will be able of helping you."

"Wait, wait, wait," Katniss gasps, looking as if she's just been slapped across the face. "You're saying I won't actually get to fight?"

That catches my attention, because, if I know anything about Katniss, it's that she'll refuse to sit out during any battle, especially one that she's being forced to fake.

"You'll have a few shots here and there, but you will not be on the front ranks," Coin explains. I sink back into my seat, relieved. It's probably good that Coin came to this conclusion on her own accord; if Katniss had done any convincing, they would be debating this until sunrise.

"I just…" Katniss mumbles, combing her fingers through her hair. "This is a lot to take in, okay? Could we maybe…tomorrow…"

"Yes, oh, yes!" Coin agrees immediately, getting up from her seat—probably to open the doors for us. "Certainly. Even mockingjays need their slumber, do they not? And today _has_ been such a stressful day…" She walks over, her eye is scanned, and she waves us out of the office, reminding us to come to her first thing in the morning.

I put my hands tentatively around Katniss's shoulders, aiming to be comforting, as Paylor/Wiles guides us to her chamber. Once we reach the door, she hesitates halfway inside. I pause, waiting for her to say something. Sheepishly, as embarrassed as that time she kissed me back at her house before this mad venture, she mutters, "I don't think…I won't be able to…Nightmares," she says finally. It's okay, though; I understand what she means. She's afraid she might not get her sleep because of the nightmares that seem to have been coming back stronger and more frequently than before. I nod and follow her inside, then carefully take a pillow and lean it against the wall by her bed, ready to take my station.

"Gale," she laughs gently, her eyes serious and almost pleading. "You don't have to…I mean, the bed's big enough for both of…" Again, without much reading into it, I am able to understand what she means. I pick up the pillow from its spot on the floor and rest it on the bed once more, then carefully tuck myself in next to her.

I don't know if I'm going to get any sleep tonight, so I lean my head back on my arms. I can sense that Katniss isn't really asleep yet either, and I turn to the side, facing her back. Gingerly, as if afraid she might break under my touch, I lift my arm and put it carefully over her, just barely grazing her bare arm. She sighs and, just as delicately, takes my hand and pulls me closer to her, resting her head against my shoulder.

"Katniss?" I breathe.

"Mm?"

"You're going to be a great mockingjay."

She doesn't say anything for a second, but I can feel her tense up. "Oh, God, I really hope so."

Gently, I let my thumb rub over her knuckles, feel her relax under my arms. It's so quiet, so peaceful, that I lower my guard and let it just slip out.

"I love you."

There's a pause, in which I can almost feel my gut fall deeper than the underground terrains of 13. Then she whispers, "I know."

"Oh."

I close my eyes, trying hard to control the burning sensation that reaches my face, shame probably. I'm possibly seconds away from sleep when I feel hot breath on my hand, and my eyes burst open once more.

"Gale?" she repeats, quietly and breezily.

"Yeah?"

"Me, too."

Somehow, I know she's not referring to my faith in her as a mockingjay.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Y'all owe me a few reviews because it is 2:22 AM and I am currently on a plane as I write this… Also I'm watching Journey 2 so this is taking up attention that I could be giving to Josh Hutcherson. (; **

**Anyways, I've been aching to include President Coin in a chapter. Feel totally free to give me advice on how to write her, or if she was OOC, or just anything! As you'll notice, Paylor is already in 13, but that is because there was a delay in my story that was not in the actual books, since Katniss was not taken to 13 immediately following the Quarter Quell. And yes, I did include some Galeniss fluff in the end because it was too much action and not enough romance! Totally disproportionate! **

**As to the reviews for chapter 21: **

**noname: No worries! I hope you like this chapter too! **

**Moonstripe: Thank you so much!**

**Love you all, and have fun this summer! **

**-TGBW**


	24. Guests

**Katniss**

I can't believe how unfair this war is going to be! Here I am, the victor, and though I usually don't approve of parading myself and boasting around, I'm most likely one of their best shots! Why, then, does _anyone_ in their right mind think that I need to be primped up and put in front of some dumb camera, just so people see I'm fighting?

I'm almost sure Gale can feel my anger seeping through my pores as he lays curled up next to me. I doubt it matters to him, though; if he heard anything of what I just said, I can imagine he is probably elated right now. Honestly speaking, I sort of surprised myself! I hadn't realized that I felt that way until just then, when he'd started the ball rolling. My chest tightens as I realize that he'd probably been waiting, hoping, for that answer for over a year. _No matter,_ I tell myself, trying to close my eyes and get some sleep, _you've already told him how you feel, and that is enough for now._

For now. The phrase echoes in my head for the longest time, depriving me of a good half hour of sleep as I try to decipher what I meant. I'm eighteen, he's twenty. In the Seam, we'd be given just a couple of years before it's time for us to get married, or engaged or pregnant at the very least. Of course, pregnancy out of wedlock is probably not the best way to go about things, but one of those three options would have to be chosen by the time I'm twenty-one, the age my mother was when she married my father.

_Are you seriously thinking about marrying Gale?_ a question popped up from the back of my mind. I winced, and Gale tightened his arm around my waist, nuzzling his face into the back of my neck and exhaling hot breath into my skin. Gale, who's been my best friend—no, so much more than my best friend—he's been my companion, my confidante, my soul split into another body. I feel the corners of my lips twitch up contentedly as I came to the realization of how perfect this was. I almost feel like one of the town girls back in 12, when they felt that their lives were perfect.

I shake the feeling off immediately. My life right now is too far from perfect, and God forbid I begin to think like a town girl.

The night hours pass dreadfully long, each one extending farther into the horizon than the one before. I lay, practically unblinking, unmoving, the entire time the sky is still dark, eagerly waiting for the light to set the clouds on fire. I suddenly envy Gale, who can sleep so soundly next to a body with internal turmoil as I try to devise a plan that would put me directly on the battlefield. Suddenly I feel myself become increasingly frustrated as it dawns on me that there are more than two sides to this rebellion.

Before I know it, the sky is bursting into color ranging from orange to peach to pink to blue. I groggily sit up, careful not to wake up Gale—who, despite everything that has been going on, still somehow manages to get himself a few hours of peaceful slumber—and glance around, processing, in the light of day, the room.

It's a basic room, not unlike the ones back home, and so different from the ones I've been subjected to for the past two and a half years in the Capitol and on its train cars. There's a low, wide gray bed, in which Gale is tangled with the dreary white bed sheets, a mirror where I can see myself, due to my height, from my neck up to a few inches above my head, one night table and desk and chair, and a cupboard with exactly three miniature shelves. It's definitely more conservative, with less personal space than is considered luxurious…

Yet at the moment, it's exactly what I need. How could I fight for equality and justice for all of Panem whilst sleeping on silk beds and being attended to my every whim?

There is a simplistic window across the room from us, on the opposite drab gray wall. However, instead of having a view to the outside world as is customary of windows such as this, all I can see is darkness at the other side, signaling yet another chamber to be attached. I decide against seeing who is staying on the other side, and rather occupy myself with digging through the closets to grab hold of something to wear—the temperature underground is much colder than up above.

Unfortunately, the only things occupying the closet are several identical gray uniforms, with only stains distinguishing one from the next. There are uncomfortable-looking leather shapeless combat boots on the floor, looking dull and worn out from years of combat training.

"Makes you miss your fire dress, doesn't it?"

I turn around abruptly, surprised by Gale's thick, gravelly morning voice. I hadn't often woken up to that voice, nor had it usually been one of the first sounds I'd been made aware of in the morning, but the voice was comforting, as if it was a blanket that I could simply hang around my shoulders and cover myself. "Gale," I breathed, "you're up."

He flashed me a half smirk before running his fingers through his thick dark hair, which was sticking up in all directions on his head. "Yeah, well, not all of us are heavy sleepers. I heard you," he explained after I stared at him a second too long after his first sentence. Honestly, I wasn't asking for an explanation. I was awestruck by the fact that he couldn't even sense my grogginess, thanks to a full night of not getting so much as a blink of an eye.

"Oh. Sorry," I mutter, trying my best to stifle a yawn. Unfortunately he catches it, and looks at me with an odd expression across his face; still, he makes no comment. I reach blindly into the closet and pull out a uniform, which turns out to be a gray jumpsuit with a dark brown belt at the waist. I excuse myself into the bathroom, where I discard my old clothes into a basket and stare at myself in the mirror.

My ribs are now protruding prominently, my pale skin sagging slightly under my eyes and on my legs. I would love nothing more than to blame my torment on the evils of the Capitol, whom have been refusing food and payment to the citizens of 12 since I came back from their stupid Quarter Quell—yet I know that I am partly to blame. If I hadn't gone off the deep end with Peeta's death and everything, I would have been eating more healthy meals. Now that I think about it, I would have been hunting more often as well, in turn ensuring that Prim ate well too.

_Stupid_, I mutter, shutting my eyes and trying to distract myself from my family. I haven't heard anything about them, though Haymitch and Gale assure me that they have been rescued from the Peacekeepers in 12, along with the Hawthornes, the Mellarks, and a few other families. Not many from the merchants were saved, because the rebels figured that they would all be spared due to their excessive feeding and producing.

_12 is a coal mining district, _I think unhappily, zipping up my jumpsuit at the front as I try to simultaneously figure out the belt buckles. _Why would they keep around a handful of merchants when what they really need is coal? _

I reluctantly wash my face, the small sink not nearly large enough to catch all the random droplets of water dripping from my chin and elbows. I turn around, ready to grab my old clothing and hang it or something, only to realize that the basket has been emptied.

"Thirteen's big on recycling," Gale's voice pipes up from the doorway, where apparently he must've been standing on the other side. "Don't be too surprised if your shoes or clothes go missing; Haymitch says that they simply use them to fabricate more."

With a horrible feeling in my stomach, I look down at my feet, finding that I've also lost a perfectly good pair of combat boots, courtesy of the rebels. I get a nasty sensation that the worn ones inside my closet won't be anywhere near as comfortable.

"Sounds interesting," I tell him absentmindedly, walking over to the closet and trying to cram my feet into the too-tight boots. "Since when do you and Haymitch talk so much?"

"You were knocked out longer than I was when we got on the hovercraft," he told me, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I smile, glad to have my joking best friend back again. "Besides, I like to know who I'm dealing with."

"Are you talking about Haymitch, or the rebels?" I ask cautiously, careful to keep my voice at a certain level. I don't want any citizens of 13 eavesdropping on my confession that maybe these people are a force to be dealt with, not to deal along with.

A sad emotion fills his eyes, but his smirk only grows wider. "I don't know anymore," he answers truthfully. Hearing it from him is so raw, so vulnerable, that I am honestly surprised at how plaintive he sounds. Suddenly though, all the sorrow vanishes from his eyes, and he's looking at me with a goofy grin plastered across his face. "Do you know what's on the agenda for today?" he asks me. I make it a point not to answer, since, until just now, I wasn't aware that there was even an agenda at all. "Coin said we had the day to ourselves. She's calling it our adjustment day. You know, to become used to everything here."

"Then let's go…adjust," I tell him, braiding my hair and twisting it back into a bun to keep it from swatting behind me. I walk out, trying to hide the limp caused by the extremely uncomfortable footwear, every once in a while glancing behind me to make sure Gale hasn't suddenly turned back or gone the other way.

"Good morning, Soldier Everdeen," say two guards stationed outside my room. I nod at them politely, returning the greeting, and blushing sheepishly once I realize how it must seem to them, to see Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne exiting the same bedroom in the morning.

"They ignored me!" Gale hisses from behind me, but his smile is practically audible.

"Effie would be appalled," I reply, hardly able to hide my grin as well. The underground of 13 is a complicated labyrinth; if it wasn't for the fact that Gale and I constantly spend our days memorizing snare routes, only to return a day or two later trying to follow our exact footsteps, it would be right next to impossible to try and replicate our path.

We come across a door stamped _CAFETERIA_, and push through the entrance. Hardly anyone is eating at the time, which I suppose only turns out to be better for us, since at least we get more food. Oh, boy, was I ever wrong.

We _did_ get more food, all right, not that the quality was any better. It was worse than much of Greasy Sae's stuff back in the Hob when it was still in business, which is certainly saying something. The stew, or whatever is in the ugly ceramic bowl, is lumpy, bubbly—two adjectives that I'd never use jointly to describe absolutely anything—and a hideous shade of gray. I look over wistfully at Gale's platter, only to realize we're all being served the same thing.

"Is there anything else to eat?" I mumble, trying to cover up the evident disgust in my eyes. I take a seat across the table from Gale, picking up my spoon. As soon as it makes contact with the surface of the 'food', a small crack appears in the stew, and slowly chunks of it start to detach from the rest. Feeling like my stomach has already begun training, I dip the rest of the spoon into the bowl, pushing it away from me.

"I seriously doubt it," comes his reply. We're silent for a few seconds before he adds, "I doubt it goes along with their recycling policy. Wonder what the hell they recycled to cook _this_ up."

"My boots, probably," I remark sullenly, remembering my ridiculously well-fitting boots. Why have I never fully appreciated them until now? I look up at Gale, who is seriously fighting hard to keep a straight face, which makes me crack a small grin.

Suddenly I hear him clear his throat, more as a preparation method rather than an actual 'clearing the throat' move, and I cringe mentally. _Please don't mention it, please don't mention it, please don't—_

Too late.

"So, Catnip," he begins smoothly, but I can tell he's trying to keep his voice under control, "I, uh, I've been meaning to speak with you…about last night, I mean…" I refuse to volunteer anything on my part, deciding instead that, since he brought up the subject, he should be the leader of this conversation. Luckily, or unluckily—nuance, really—he's fully prepared about what he is going to say. "Did you, uh, mean it?"

I have to admit, the question surprised me. There I was thinking he's trying to figure out where we should move from this; instead, as he is always so full of surprises, he is asking me for reassurance. Suddenly a new thought enters my mind: did he expect it? Or was he seriously surprised? "I think so," I answer shyly, quietly.

This apparently is not the answer he was hoping for. His gray eyes cloud over with an emotion I don't recognize. "Catnip," he chokes out in a forced laugh, though there's no trace of humor in his expression, "you just _think_ so?"

"Gale—" I begin, worried that already he's retreating back to his shell. And that, if he does, it'll be a challenge to lure him out again."

"You're supposed to just _know_, aren't you?" he asks slightly incredulously. I look around the cafeteria, but thankfully there are no other people present. He's starting to raise his voice a little bit.

"But I don't," I challenge him. "Gale, you have to understand—"

"Understand?" he cries out in a pained voice. "I try to understand! I understood when you became Panem's love interest to save your life, and I understood when you were the mourning widow! So tell me, what _don't_ I understand?"

I feel a little bit of anger flare up inside me; no, he didn't understand! Not when had to run away with him, and Peeta and Haymitch and our families! The way he says it, he makes me sound like an awful, cold harpy—not that he's far off the mark, exactly, but it would be even more unfair if I was with him just pretending that I was sure I loved him. That is what he deserves; it's also what I can't give him yet. "I'm sorry I don't have my feelings filed under neat little categories so I can just check which ones I have for you!" I tell him, an oddly calm tone to my voice as I try to nonverbally tell him to lower his own voice.

"I'm not asking you for anything!" he retorts, sitting back into his chair. "But you said something, and I'm just trying to see if it's true. I don't mean to put any pressure on you."

"Yes, you are!" I snap at him, incredulous to his claims of innocence. If he wasn't trying to put pressure on me, why insist? Why not just live by what I told him last night? "You're expecting me to give you answers that I'm sorry I don't have!"

He rolls his eyes in frustration and crosses his arms. "You shouldn't have said anything,"

"Neither should you."

We both glare at each other in silence for a few cold seconds, where the tension in the air was practically palpable, before Haymitch appears in the cafeteria, Effie's arm linked with his. "…and no doorman," I hear Effie complain as she glances around the cafeteria. "And where, please tell me, where am I supposed to hang my purse?" She sniffs before adding, "If I still had one."

Haymitch groans, annoyed, before his eyes rest on us. He looks quickly from me to Gale, who still refuses to turn away from me, and realization crosses his face. He sits Effie down at a two-person table before making his way over to us, and looking at me with a sad expression. "Hawthorne," he says, turning to look at Gale, "can I have a word with Katniss?"

"She's all yours," Gale replies indifferently, standing up and storming out of the cafeteria without so much as nodding in Effie's direction, even though she saw him and would—most likely—be livid from the lack of manners.

"What is it?" I grunt, not in the mood of talking to Haymitch, even though he just potentially saved me from another groundbreaking argument with Gale. I lean forward and rub my eyes.

Haymitch hesitates, but I can see a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "I wasn't supposed to tell you this," he whispers in as low a voice as he can muster," because it's your adjustment day, according to schedule. But, you have the right to know. They're here."

I look up at him, with what must look like confusion etched across my face. "Who's-?" I ask, before the situation hits me. And I feel my stomach fill with an excitement and anticipation I'd only felt on the beaches of the Quell's arena.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I AM ALIVE. AND I AM SO, SO, SO RIDICULOUSLY SORRY. Long story short (not particularly), I finally read the Harry Potter series. (Don't judge me for not reading them before.) Actually, I started up two fanfictions for it! Just if y'all wanted to check them out, you know what my profile is. (: **

**Anyway, I was also at camp, so I had little time to even update those two. But now I'm back at school, and this was made a priority because I have kept you guys waiting way too long! **

**Now anonymous review:**

**noname: Thank you so much! And I was on an airplane but they were only showing that one, not The Last Song (sadly). But that's okay because on the flight back to (insert my location here) I watched The Hunger Games! (Well, half of it. I hadn't slept in 48 hours and was tired as hell.) Yayy, a cookie! I hope this one gets a cookie too! **

**As for those of you following my Finnick/Annie story, that one will have to wait a bit longer because I'm facing the longest writer's block I've ever faced.**

**Thanks for staying with this story, guys! And I will update faster for reviews (: hint hint. **

**Love,**

**Andee**


	25. Author's Note II

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**I know, I know, I know, bad goofybookworm! I have been ignoring this website for like two months! BUT I HAVE MY REASON.**

**In English class, we were all forced to participate in NaNoWriMo. The good news is, I am one of the few that actually like writing, and so I managed to get a total of 50,083 words, meaning I will most likely receive 5 printed copies! (: The bad news is, I have been thoroughly neglecting everything else, including my fanfictions. I will try as hard as possible to have one new chapter out for ****_each_**** story before Christmas, but I make no promises!**

**Thank you for your reviews, I love you all so much! You keep me smiling (: **

**Love you guys! **

**-TGBW**


	26. Never See You Again

**Gale**

I don't chance a glance over my shoulder as I storm out of the cafeteria, positively furious at Katniss. Yes, I know and understand it's not her fault. Obviously she has much more on her mind than just whatever feelings she may or may not have towards me.

Suddenly, the fury changes. It's not so much anger as irritation, but not for her—for _myself_. What kind of rebel have I become, when my own personal love life has become a larger matter to me than my country's well-being? I get the sudden urge to barge my head against a nearby wall. I barely manage to suppress that urge by clenching my fists tightly, my jaw locked and teeth gritted as I turn a corner. What I see is a long corridor, the end blocked by a door I haven't bothered to notice before. What I do notice, however, is what is blocking the door itself.

A rebel soldier is standing at the other side, watching me. I say soldier because not only is he wearing the mandatory gray uniform of District 13, but in his arms he holds a large gun, though thankfully it's not pointed at me. His eyes are narrow, as if he is trying to figure me out. _What the hell? _I wonder, taking tentative steps forward. For a foolish moment, I had thought that the soldiers had given me enough trust so as to not stare at me in such a calculating way. Still, I don't stop walking. The only thing worse than being doubted is to acknowledge it.

"Soldier Hawthorne?" he asks in a gravelly voice, lifting a thick eyebrow. That stops me in my tracks; typically, they won't address anyone not native to District 13 if there isn't an urgent matter. General information is usually given via the speakers lodged in every corner, right next to the security cameras. _Oh, yeah. Don't even think that I'm not aware of _those.

I nod. "Yes, sir?" I ask, standing up a bit more rigidly. I have learned throughout our thus far short stay in the underground tunnels that it's best to address these people as if they were all figures of authority. Here, the only commanders that are evident are Coin and Boggs. Anyone else is not distinguished from his or her superiors, which obviously makes it increasingly more difficult to not make some sort of wrong move.

"You are required in sector C," he announces, lifting his chin and staring at me squarely. It is clear that I don't really have a choice as to whether or not I should show up. I nod, and without much more ceremony, duck out of that passage, speedwalking towards sector C.

I know for a fact that Katniss hasn't made an effort to learn the hallways of the underground canals, but I've made it my responsibility to memorize the passages and where they lead. Not only is it a bit of a "better safe than sorry" mentality, but it makes emergency reactions that much quicker. I turn corners almost expertly, my palms clammy from wondering what they could possibly need of me. Sector C is the arrival corridors, where the people are introduced to everything as soon as they arrive. My brow furrows as I continue my stride: has someone arrived?

Finally, I push through the last remaining doors between me and the arrival corridor, and the first thing I am greeted with is a childish, high voice, screaming, "_Gale_!"

Without hesitating, I run through, my arms looping under Posy's as I lift her. I nearly crush her against my chest, but I don't give a damn at the moment. She's here, _she's here_, and she's _safe_. One hand reaches up to cup the back of her head, and I bury my face into the crook of her neck, my eyes shut. I had spent so much time wondering, and _hoping_, that they were safe, that they were fine. Nobody knew what the Capitol might have done to them, had they stayed longer. Nobody knew what to answer me when I asked them if they would live to see me again—and now she's _here_. "Posy, Posy, I'm here," I gasp out in choked breaths, tightening my arm around her. I feel a tap on my elbow, and allow myself to look down.

"Yeah, thanks for ignoring me, you prick!" snaps Rory, his arms crossed. I am suddenly amazed by how much older he seems now. Have I really been gone _that _long?

One arm pulls him towards me, and, though he insists that he is a tough guy and never tries to display much emotion, he immediately wraps his arms around me in a hug. Another dainty hand touches his shoulder, and I follow the trail of its arm until I reach my mother's face. She is looking disapprovingly at Rory. "Watch your language, young man," she reprimands him, frowning, before she turns to me. Her dark gray eyes soften and well up with tears, and the worry creases on her forehead strike me. Though it cannot have been more than a month since I saw her, she seems to have aged years with worry. I notice that there are more gray streaks in her hair—not too noticeable, though it is obvious for someone who has grown accustomed to seeing her every day. Her hair remains mostly mousy brown though. Her eyebrows are creased as she studies me, but when her lower lip starts to tremble I swiftly lower Posy and bring my arms around her. She buries her face into my shirt, taking in deep, ragged breaths as she tries not to sob.

"Gale, I d-didn't know what t-to think, I—I thought I'd n-never see you again!" she cries, her arms around my waist nearly crushing me. One hand rests on her head, smoothing her hair as I crane my neck to leave a light kiss on her cheek.

"Mom, Mom, I'm fine," I croak in a raspy voice as I try not to leak some stray tears as I speak. "I just—thank god you're okay," I tell her, not for the first time noticing how small she seems to me now.

Suddenly I pull away and whip my head around in alarm. "Where the hell is Vick?" I ask, my voice taking on a panicked tone.

She shushes me calmly and explains that he had to go straight to the medical care. If she thinks this is supposed to calm me down, she is gravely mistaken. "What happened to him? Is he alright? Is he badly hurt? Mom, what happened to him?"

Huh. Maybe it's true what they say that, in the presence of his mother, a man is reduced to a boy.

"He's fine, he just—he's a bit injured. The Peacekeepers put up quite a fight when the rebels tried to evacuate us," she tells me. She says this with a slight smile, but her voice betrays her panic at having been forcibly taken out of her home. The corners of her mouth quiver, and I can tell it's worse than she lets on.

"Alright," I decide, "I'll take you to my compartment, and then I'll go see him." I silence her protests, and, with Posy once again in one arm, I lead them down the halls and through the corridors until we reach my rightful room.

Posy looks around, and her displeasure is evident. We didn't have much back home, but it was larger than this. The compartments in 13 are practically claustrophobic. I drop her onto the bed, and she runs her hands absently over the rough blankets. "Is this where we're going to sleep?" she asks in a small voice.

I shake my head. "No, this one's just for me. I'll make sure you guys get a larger one." I crack a grin. "Don't worry, Princess Posy, you'll get your chamber yet!" I joke. She smiles in return, flopping backwards and curling near my mother. Mom looks up at me from her seat on the bed, and nods her consent to me as I hastily leave the compartment.

I'm not even aware of which corridors I take. By now, I have studied the map so thoroughly to arrive to the medical care—just in case, of course; in a war, you never know—that it's nearly automatic for me to get there without the actual path registering in my mind. Before I know it, I arrive at the large, white doors to the infirmary, and I barge in without a sideway glance at the soldiers at the door. That's another thing I can't help but notice about 13's underground system: there are soldiers poised at _every_ _single door_. It's gotten to a point where I honestly have to wonder which one they're ensuring: that nobody comes in, or that nobody gets out.

"Hawthorne, Vick; where the hell is he?" I demand at the nurse sitting behind the counter. She stares back with wide, alarmed eyes, before quickly searching through her files.

"Room 389," she informs me. I scan the room numbers, before taking off in a sprint down one hallway.

_378…380…382…384…_

The passage seems to elongate as I venture forward, my speed increasing as I peer in through the square windows at every door. As I run, the injuries seem to worsen. _Vick_, I think near hysterically, almost running past 289. Without knocking or waiting for the OK to enter, I burst through the door.

Vick is propped up against some pillows on the plain hospital bed. His eyes are open and expectant, as if he's just been waiting for my arrival this whole time. He smiles calmly, and I almost miss the needle in his forearm.

His injuries are at the same level that I feared. By what I can see, his right calf has been badly cut, with the missing skin exposing his muscle tissue. The white sheets underneath are stained with blood, though I presume that they were logical enough to clean the wound before putting him into the bed. His arm—not the one with the needle—is in a poorly-fabricated sling. Other than those two gaping injuries, however, he seems alright.

Wordlessly, I sit on the chair by his side, and he turns his head to keep smiling at me. We don't say anything. Both of us near each other is enough.

* * *

Vick is under the doctor's orders to stay in bed for three more days unless there is an attack, so by the time lunch is announced I have no choice but to leave him behind. He falls asleep minutes before I go, making it easier for me to slip out without worry and jog back through the hospital to my compartment.

My mother is still sitting on the bed, Posy asleep beside her. Rory, as I enter, is hastily trying to untie my boots from his feet.

I laugh. "Like them, buddy?" I ask sarcastically, knowing that the boots are beyond terrible.

He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head quickly. "God, no. Do you really have to wear these?" he complains, standing up and dropping them into the closet. I smirk at him, before turning towards my mother again at the sound of her clearing her throat.

"Posy woke up a while ago wondering when we would eat lunch," she informs me.

I answer the question she doesn't ask. "We are to be heading down to the cafeteria right about now," I reply, picking up my little sister and starting towards the door. I hold it open, allowing my mother and Rory to walk past.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: No excuse. Absolutely no excuse. And I am so so sorry, but—okay, here's an excuse, sorry bout that—I have seriously been so uninspired. I've basically been rereading the Harry Potter books for like 5 months, and obsessing over Sherlock. Needless to say, the Catching Fire trailer sort of jumpstarted my Hunger Games muse, so to speak. This chapter's short, but I've already begun the next one, so hopefully that'll make up for it?**

**Thanks for reading and for keeping up with the story, and please leave a review! (:**

**-Andee**


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